Chapter 109 – Death's Pull
previously:
~ When Voldemort placed his flat palm on top of the glass case, it melted away, allowing him to pick up a small item that glinted black and gold. It was Voldemort's family ring, Harry realised. The one he'd seen in Dumbledore's memories a few times. What he'd never noticed before were the lines carved into the black stone. The same triangle, circle and line etched as on the leather cover of the book he'd fallen asleep over. ~
''What does this mean?''
Harry peered at the symbol etched in onyx, a dozen more questions popping up. The resemblance was unmistakable. ''Why does your ring have the same sign as Grindelwald uses?''
He would have said 'Grindelwald's sign, but just like Barty had mentioned in the vault, the symbol must be much older than the former 'Dark Lord'… That begged the question what common origin those who used it had.
''Connections. Puzzle pieces,'' Voldemort unhelpfully muttered, placing the ring on his flat palm. Light from the floating orbs glinted off it, giving it an unearthly sheen. Harry could not decide between finding the trinket menacing or alluring. Perhaps a bit of both, same as the man whom it belonged to, who had poured his soul into it.
Harry shifted from one foot to the other – an odd habit to carry over into a dream, he realised a moment later - unsatisfied by clearly having less of these pieces available to him than his partner. Although Harry did have one, from one of the memories Dumbledore had shown during their 'lessons'. The older Gaunt had bragged about this item to the poor Ministry worker who'd checked in on them, hadn't he? Spat out a name while practically pushing the ring into Bob Ogden's face. A name all too familiar.
''Peverell.''
That was it. Marvolo Gaunt had said the ring was engraved with the Peverell coat of arms, proof of the pure blood of the Gaunt line. Harry hadn't thought much about it back then. He should have.
''Indeed,'' Voldemort agreed, pleased. ''Peverell. One piece in form of a lineage…''
Raising an eyebrow, the teen waited for more to be revealed. Even without feeling Voldemort's emotions, he could sense a monologue coming up. The Dark Lord did not disappoint, carefully setting the ring back on its pedestal before moving away from it to pace back and forth. Harry supressed the urge to follow on Voldemort's heels, rather keeping the ring in his line of sight even as glass walls spun into existence to encase it once more.
Besides, getting too close to his partner would only end in getting distracted again, and he actually wished to listen to whatever insight Voldemort could provide that might lift the hem of the cloth shrouding this mystery of strange dark symbols on books and rings.
''When I first visited Nurmengard, the old impostor rambled on about how I surely had a long search behind me. He was convinced I had followed a trail of clues that led me to him in search of the Wand of Destiny.''
Harry tried not to show how confused he was by Voldemort jumping from the topic of the Peverell symbol and the Horcrux vessel in front of them to the recently claimed wand. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the glass case. This was going to be a long monologue, then.
''Too focused on uncovering what this mysterious wand was all about, I neglected to ask about the scope of these supposed clues. Since then, there have been strange… coincidences I have noticed. When I dragged our dear Headmaster to his new home, Grindelwald was very pointedly reading a book on old children's fairytales, which appeared to shake Dumbledore for reasons yet unknown to me. During my additional research of the Deathstick, I read it as well: The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Plenty of the stories featured impossible wands of course, as the book was designed to hold fables that sound impossible even to those confronted with magic in the cradle.
One fable stood out to me, one that not only featured a wand given by Death itself, but also an invisibility cloak that can hide one from death. Its description starkly reminded me of your cloak, which brings me to the purpose of it. We already determined it was likely designed with the specific aim of hiding one from the Black Cosmos. An artefact crafted for and by Magi Mortem. Now, it should not be a terrific surprise to you which old family is most heavily linked to Necromancy in this corner of the world.''
''Cadmus Peverell wrote the book I have used since day one of studying the Art,'' Harry mused. ''So… one of your ancestors is a Peverell, as you have a ring with their crest passed down your family line. A family of which some of its members studied Necromancy… What is that same symbol doing on a blank book in the Potter vault? Moreover, why did Grindelwald pick the sign of an old family from here as his symbol? He's from the other side of Europe, no?''
''Your necromantic cloak was also a family artefact, if I recall correctly, passed down for many generations. I wouldn't be surprised to find a Peverell when tracing your own family back far enough. The Potters - before you - may have shed their love for heavy magic, yet that would have looked very different several hundred years ago. As for Grindelwald… he may have been born in Austria-Hungary – certainly not the 'other side of Europe' I must add - but he has very close family in Britain. In fact, famous Historian Bathilda Bagshot is his direct great-aunt. Who in turn is a descendent of the Peverells.''
''And you know that how…?''
Voldemort smiled in a way that Harry might have called 'bashful' if the man wouldn't be above such expressions. ''Ah, before I was granted the title of Dark Lord and found out that Grindelwald was but a self-appointed fraud, I was a tad obsessed with attempting to find connections to renown mages in my family. The greatest discovery was naturally being the Heir of Slytherin, but sharing a bloodline with the infamous dark wizard who was waging war overseas certainly caught my eye. I specifically traced his lines back to see if they crossed and, to my delight, they did. The parents of Cadmus Peverell, Antiochus and Loiola Peverell, are our first common ancestors. I descended from Cadmus himself, whereas Grindelwald descended from the oldest child, Antioch.''
''So, Grindelwald simply used the symbol of his ancestors?''
''He certainly was entitled to do so. However, do not lose sight of the grander scheme after reaching that conclusion. As I said, this shared lineage is but one aspect. This tale I read spoke of three different items given by Death: a wand more powerful than any other, a cloak of invisibility so thorough it could hide one from death itself and a stone that can bring the dead back to life. You had an impossible invisibility cloak passed down to you and a book with the Peverell symbol in your vault, Grindelwald did not rest until he called the Deathstick his own and used the same symbol to identify himself with. And I…''
Their gazes both landed on the ring once more. Catching onto what Voldemort was trying to say, Harry filled in the glaring blank: ''-you have a mysterious ring as a family heirloom with this coat of arms on it. Specifically, on the stone set in it… Wait, does it have any other magical properties then?''
''That is where my string of clues starts to unravel. As far as I am aware, it is nothing more than a well-cut stone. No distinct magic emitted from it until I turned it into a Horcrux. I have carried it on my hand without consequence, have admired it as proof of my lineage without discovering any enchantments on it. Nor has the piece of my soul placed inside of it ever given a hint to its vessel being more. Perhaps it is a failed experiment that found its way into the story for the sake of completion.''
''Or – and don't flip out at this outrageous suggestion – you never figured out how to properly use it.'' With how Voldemort bristled and glared, Harry was glad to have tagged on a warning beforehand. ''I'm just saying… wands are obviously activated upon usage and an invisibility cloak by wearing it. A stone though? One that supposedly resurrects the dead in what I assume is a different way from 'regular' necromancy? It'd be impractical if you'd raise corpses left and right by simply carrying it on your person. There might be an activation spell to it.''
''That may be so,'' the other painfully admitted. ''The tale spoke of the brother who received it turning the stone over thrice to work its magic, but surely that is a simplification. I've spun the ring in my hands many times and had nothing happen. I shall have to search for answers elsewhere, for none of the resources available to me hold them.''
Harry's head swam with theories of necromancers and Dark Lords and powerful items featured in fairytales, trying to make sense of it all. Voldemort appeared to be onto something, was going somewhere with these theories, but the ultimate conclusion remained muddled. The invisibility cloak might be linked to the Peverells, they might share ancestors who happened to be Necromancers, and Grindelwald had seen enough value in that bloodline to use the family's sign. And somehow, these facts linked to a children's book?
''None of this answered my question. You're saying that both the book I found and my cloak are items dating back to the Peverells? We don't even know if I'm actually related to them. Did you trace the Potter line back that far as well?'' If he'd been searching for links to important families, the Potters might have been on that list of noteworthy candidates as one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
''I did not need to, I already found a Potter in my family four generations back.''
Harry wasn't quite sure whether to be comfortable with the information that they were more closely related than some extremely distant ancestors from hundreds of years ago - judging by Cadmus Peverell's book having been written in the thirteenth century.
Voldemort wiped that discomfort away with a single gesture, striding up to Harry and placing a cold, scaled hand against his cheek. The dry rasp against his skin felt more comfortable than he'd expected. Since the resurrection ritual, Harry's own blood flowed through the veins now pressed so closely against him. What were a few drops passed down generations ago compared to that? It hadn't mattered before and wouldn't matter now.
''I cannot give you concise answers as of yet, merely theories. There is a connection to be found between Grindelwald, the Peverell symbol and the artefacts mentioned in this story. At least one of which is very real – the wand - another a strong contender – your cloak – and the last one a possibility…'' Once again, they both glanced at the encased Horcrux. ''If you found a strange book in your vault with the Peverell sign, I imagine it must be related to either one or all of these items.''
''It sounds like the start of a wild goose chase we don't actually have time for,'' Harry said, leaning heavily into Voldemort's pale hand, nuzzling his nose into the palm. ''With everything else going on.''
The man made an unsatisfied noise. ''I wouldn't be certain of that. Something linked to Death and the Art could give us an advantage, considering how you dealt with the Dementors we were faced with. You used the Black Cosmos to erase their existence.'' A thumb started stroking patterns down Harry's face. It took a moment to realise that it traced the lines of his lightning scar, which covered half of his face in dreams. ''In your delirium, you told me that Necromancers are portals. If there is a stone that can truly resurrect the dead… can its properties not be reversed to drag beings out of existence the way you did? Doing so with one's own magic is possible, if taxing to a lethal point. When part of the load is shouldered by an artefact…''
Voldemort was getting a decidedly obsessive tone, one that reminded of many evenings in which the man had practically holed himself up in the office. Forgot to eat, to sleep, parchment and books scattered all over as the Dark Lord poured his intricate mind onto pages with numbers and symbols Harry hadn't been able to comprehend. Caught between brilliance and madness.
Harry swayed forward, tilting his head upwards to give into the kiss he'd been holding back since Voldemort had started talking. It escalated quickly, teeth nipping at his neck and the sharpness of clawed fingers evident on his back even with layers of robes in between. There was no need to vocalise the way love flooded his entire being as he was enraptured by everything Voldemort was. He did so anyways, first in whispers as his mouth wandered across scaled cheekbones, then in a staccato of gasps when the distance was closed ever further.
''Do you wish to find out how much can be felt in dreams?'' Voldemort suggestively asked, a long black tongue dragging across Harry's exposed shoulder where the robe had been pulled off.
Tempting though that may be in many other settings, the teen was still clear enough of mind to remember where they were. Surrounded by pieces of his partner's soul. Dream or not, the possibility of being watched made him distinctly uncomfortable. ''I'd rather you come home as soon as you can and give me my promised hour,'' Harry decided, biting back a cheeky grin at the glint of ferocity that statement evoked in his partner. The inhuman eyes were shockingly expressive, red darkening a few shades and slitted pupils blowing out.
''At least,'' came the answering hiss, accompanied by an insistent pressing of hips against his own that left nothing to the imagination.
Harry indulged for only a moment, shuddering with want before weaselling his way out of cold arms to stick with his decision instead of changing his mind. ''And after?'' he breathlessly asked to steer the conversation into less brain-melting directions. ''Will we start our research as you told the Ministry? Or contact your Death Eaters?''
Inhaling deeply, Voldemort too calmed any remaining frustration in his voice. ''We can manage both. As well as a variety of other matters. Has there been news of the Order or Umbridge?''
''Neither yet. I hope to hear something in the morning. Did Snape not give you any insight? I was under the impression that he'd be part of the Order meeting.''
''I intended to send him along until Ronald pointed out that Hogwarts can serve as a haven. I need Severus there to keep an eye on the other teachers during my entire stay. It was questionable anyways how much he could be of help in convincing the Order members to aid us, they either regard him as a traitor already or will as soon as his role is revealed to those unaware. Alecto might have information and did wish to speak to me last evening, but I over-exerted myself and would have decapitated anyone who'd have kept me from sleeping longer than necessary. So, while we wait for news on both fronts, we can follow our only lead on the Peverells. It might be time to visit our Rapunzels in their ivory tower.''
The image that phrasing brought forth made Harry laugh. ''Let's hope they let down their beards. Does Dumbledore have enough hair left to climb up?''
''Plenty, I don't think he's seen a proper barber in five-hundred years. Not that I'd ever touch it more than necessary. I didn't need you to let your hair down to get into Gryffindor Tower either.''
Narrowing his eyes, Harry gives Voldemort a long look. ''What did you need in there?''
''Where do you think I am sleeping? It holds the only bed that can offer a semblance of comfort amidst enemy territory.''
Flushing, the teen tried to figure out how to respond to that. Did his partner seeking out Harry's old bed fall in the territory of 'cute' or did it border on 'creepy?' ''How did you even know which one is mine?'' he asked to avoid overthinking that.
''Other than you, I possess the valuable skills of perception and deduction.''
Definitely not cute when paired with underhanded insults. Then again, Harry wasn't really one to talk about occupying personal space without permission. The first time they'd shared a room was after he'd apparated inside Voldemort's by accident, and after they'd established a relationship, he'd gradually moved in until one of the walls was covered in Quidditch posters. Overcoming his initial embarrassment, Harry tried to picture the Dark Lord stretched out across his bed in the Gryffindor dorms. Maybe a bit cute after all.
He was about to say so just to see his lover's reaction when unforgiving light flooded the otherwise dim room.
It was morning.
Groaning, Harry rolled off the sofa, cracking his poor back that wouldn't thank him for the uncomfortable way he'd been curled up all night. The drawing room was empty save for Nagini, who was stretched out all across the soft shag rug in front of the cold fireplace. Not that they needed a fire right now, with the hot summer they were all suffering from – or most of them, the cold-blooded among them were not as inhibited by it. Harry did count it as a good sign. Warmth meant the Dementors were far away and had not yet bolstered their numbers so much that their depressing presence affected the weather. The hundreds of Dementors at Hogwarts in third year had caused far more fog and rain than in other years.
Wandering downstairs into the hallway, he once more went over everything Voldemort had mentioned. The defensive charms his love had spoken off seemed to no longer apply to Harry, as he recalled the black room and Voldemort's description of its whereabouts. He lingered in front of the doorway leading to the potion storages, wondering if it'd be a good idea to have a chat with the ring Horcrux as the only clue in his direct vicinity right now. Somehow, Harry had a thought that melting the glass away was not going to be as easy as it had appeared in dreams, nor that Voldemort would be particularly thrilled by Harry taking initiative this time.
With a small sigh, he decided against it and stepped away, drawing the Deathstick he'd gained ownership over to look at while sauntering towards the kitchen. The same wand that Dumbledore had won… the same that Grindelwald had stolen. A wand apparently 'given by death itself.' What further details did this fairytale Voldemort had mentioned hold? Children's stories seemed an odd choice of research paper. Was that truly the most accurate source he'd found that spoke of the wand? Or was it the one his love considered above all others simply because Grindelwald had been reading it?
''Morning Evan,'' Barty loudly greeted through the open kitchen door. ''Slept well?''
''Physically, no. Mentally, couldn't have been better. I finally shared a dream with Voldemort again.'' Shared a little bit more than just the dream, Harry mentally added as a clear memory of wandering hands and a wicked mouth presented itself.
An undignified shriek made his eyebrows rise. Walking fully into the kitchen, he saw Gornok sitting on the kitchen chair, short legs dangling off it in a way that was very reminiscent of Professor Flitwick.
''Don't mind him,'' Barty waved away. ''We've come to some agreements. Mostly. I thought you could no longer share dreams?''
''So we thought too, but perhaps the distance…'' Harry had a distinct gut feeling that the distance wasn't all there was to it. Voldemort had been too surprised over both of the fact that they had dreamwalked again as well as Harry's mind subconsciously picking the room in which his partner safeguarded the Horcruxes.
More than the Horcruxes, Harry pondered. A ring with the Peverell symbol. Which linked it to the book in his vault and possibly his invisibility cloak and the Wand of Destiny. Had it been the link between these items that had dragged him into that dream somehow? It seemed far too convenient to be a lucky coincidence.
Still, after all this theorising he agreed with Voldemort that more pieces were needed to complete the picture. It was as if Harry had an annoying itch in his head that couldn't be scratched.
''Barty… do you happen to know if we own a copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard?''
Perhaps if he could read this story in peace on his own, he could figure out what was missing. What was most irritating about this speculation was that Voldemort had instantly jumped to Harry's connection to the Peverells possibly being his invisibility cloak, which helped little in searching for answers on what to do with the book he'd found the actual symbol on.
''I'm sure I've seen a copy of it in our Lord's study recently, but one would think you'd have other things to worry about than reading fairytales,'' the Death Eater commented. ''An owl arrived minutes ago, an old beast that I at first confused with a flying mop, until seeing it carried a letter. It's from Ronald, I put it on the living room table as it is addressed to you. Since he sent neither a Howler nor a Patronus, I figure the meeting did not end in imminent danger.''
Harry was only torn between figuring out this mystery and hearing from his friend for barely a fraction of a second, practically racing towards the living room. He'd have flown if thinking that would have been faster, snatching the envelope from the table and tearing into it.
Any apprehension at appearing on the doorstep of the Order of the Phoenix vanished as soon as the crooked building of the Burrow came into view. The mismatched rooms precariously stacked on top each other were bathing in sunlight, the side garden teemed with scurrying gnomes and the smell of baked goods was carried on the wind. Harry felt as if he'd just stumbled out of the flying car again after having been rescued from Privet Drive, seeing this place for the first time. Maybe he wasn't on a good foot with everyone inside at the moment, but clutching the letter he'd been sent, Harry knew at least one of the Weasley would always be in his corner.
''Will you announce me, girl?'' he whispered to Hedwig, who nipped at his ear and was grateful to stretch beautifully white wings to soar towards the house. Not a few moments later, the front door was thrown open, Ron enthusiastically waving. A weight lifted from Harry's heart at spotting his best friend's wide grin.
''You alone?'' Ron curiously asked after letting him in and giving an awkward half-hug that was more bumping arms than anything. He looked left and right as if having expected Harry to have shown up with a whole army. ''I did write that you could bring company.''
''Barty is still busy negotiating with a Goblin he accidentally rescued – long story – and although I'd say the reason Voldemort isn't with me is because he's preoccupied at Hogwarts, I also remember your family aren't his biggest fans. With the remaining choices being Malfoys or Nagini, I'm not sure who else I could have brought along.''
To be entirely fair, Barty had offered, having practically wrapped up these negotiations with Gornok. Showing up with another Death Eater by his side wasn't really the approach Harry wished to take here, however. This was about testing the waters with people he cared for. Hiding behind anyone else, no matter how much he trusted or loved them, didn't feel right.
Barty had given warnings of course: for Harry to be careful, to be prepared for traps or for Ron to be brainwashed (the latter point was laughable, as if anything short of the Imperius curse could sway his best friend). In the end, Harry had pulled his card of having an unbeatable, untraced wand at the ready and an arsenal of spells at his disposal that would give the toughest Auror shaky knees. That and an emergency Portkey to Voldemort, which might have been the argument to really have won out. Harry had neglected to mention the bit about not planning to use something that could smash him into a deadly ward as long as the Dark Lord was at Hogwarts.
Scratching copper stubble, Ron spoke: ''I kind of hoped Sirius or Professor Lupin would accompany you. Umbridge can't be that hard to find, right? Made a deal with Ginny that she can't put herself in unnecessary danger if those two handle the problem today.''
Ginny agreeing to such a deal only meant the girl was certain she'd win that wager. Harry tended to agree with her on that. A single day was hardly enough to find a witch surrounded by Dementors. ''She's here, then? Ginny?'' he hopefully asked, having worried about her safety after the attack on Diagon Alley.
''Course, she arrived with Fred and George yesterday, barely twenty minutes after I gave mum a heart attack by showing my face. Ginny was furious about not being let in on the meeting by the way. Well, you know how she gets. Still knew every word that had been spoken afterwards so either mum forgot to ward the door or my sister found a way to eavesdrop that's even sneakier than Fred and George's extendable ears. Neither option would surprise me given the situation and her creativity.''
''Did she tell anyone about her plans?''
''Not our parents, Ginny diligently stuck to her alibi, but she might have had to fess up to Fred and George. I don't know, this is the first time mum and dad let me out of their sight for longer than three seconds since I've been back.'' From the way Ron's blue eyes brightened more than usual, this did not bother him as much as the tone suggested.
''So, where are we at with the Order?'' Harry asked, not wishing to traipse into a bunch of wands pointed at him. ''Are any besides your family still here? The Burrow was the 'designated meeting spot', right?''
''It was, I guess there's few other places the Order can freely visit that is as heavily monitored by You-Know-Who. Besides my family; McGonagall, Tonks, Shacklebolt and Aberforth Dumbledore stayed overnight. The rest was allowed to leave after Carrow made them swear to aid You-Know-Who under influence of Veritaserum. So that'd be Hagrid, Jones, Diggle, Podmore and a tiny lady called 'Figg' I've never seen before. Carrow returned shortly before you arrived, replaced the big bloke who didn't say a word while standing guard all night. Oh yeah, and Mundungus didn't show. I imagine he's shivering in a ditch in fear somewhere,'' Ron rattled off as fast as possible, counting the people he mentioned on his fingers.
''The ones who stayed so far refused?'' Harry worried, a knot in his stomach forming at the thought of having to stand up against either his Head of House, Sirius' favourite cousin or the good-natured Kingsley who'd made him feel welcome in the Order's Headquarters before anyone else had.
''Not all. Mum and dad agreed to stop fighting. They'd joined the Order to create a safer future for my siblings and I, so when Bill and I both insisted that they'd succeed better in doing so by focusing on battling this new threat together, they at last folded. The other Dumbledore is shockingly also in the clear. It's just McGonagall and the Aurors who've been impossible to convince so far. They insisted on talking to you first.''
Harry better be convincing, then, he thought to himself. The only alternative Voldemort had offered those who refused to help after having been a thorn in his side for so long was death. It was an understandable stance to take given the current state of war, but that didn't mean Harry would give up on anyone so fast. No matter how much Sirius loved him, Harry doubted the man would simply 'get over' Tonks being executed for obstructing Voldemort's plans.
Finally entering the house proper, Harry remained a touch on guard as he headed into the large living room. The calming effect the Burrow's overall coziness had couldn't change that he wasn't on great speaking terms with most of those present. He tried very hard not to take a defensive stance when, upon coming face-to-face with over half of the remaining Order of the Phoenix, the first one to meet his eyes was Professor McGonagall, sitting all prim and proper in a patchy old armchair.
She was not the one to speak first.
''Harry, dearie, you must be starving after all the commotion in the past couple of days,'' Mrs Weasley declared, hands planted firmly on her hips as she took him in. ''Ron told me they served barely a few bites during the Lughnasadh celebration, and nothing but a chocolate bar after those awful creatures attacked!''
After she'd had nothing to offer but tense silence when Harry had explained himself in the Nest and more silence in letters never addressed to or mentioning him, this was not the first thing Harry had expected Mrs Weasley to say.
As much as he was instantly inclined to turn down her typical offer to feed him enough for two, his stomach very much disagreed. Between said bar of chocolate and Barty's inedible creations, he really had had very little to eat. The only proper recent meal was the one he'd made for himself upon returning to Riddle House yesterday, and even then, he'd been more concerned about getting the dietary needs of Goblins right – how could he have known they were carnivores and literally could not handle vegetables? When Ron's letter had arrived, he'd a rushed to the Burrow without bothering to have breakfast.
In the strangest turn of events, this dreaded and anticipated meeting with the Order after they'd been informed of most that had really been going on, ended up with Harry munching down a sandwich opposite McGonagall and Alecto Carrow while squashed between Ron and Bill at the dining table. ''So… err…. You wanted to speak to me?'' he finally dared ask, fleetingly scanning the crowd that was scattered across the living area due to a lack of space at the table. The two Aurors were tense, McGonagall and Arthur reserved as always – each in their own way – and the remaining Weasleys showed various stages of friendliness.
Glaringly absent was Ginny, strange for someone who claimed to wish being included in any important conversations. Surely she was not banned from this 'meeting' as well, was she?
Gryffindor's Head of House cleared her throat to answer him. Almost comically, she had to swallow her words when another, loud voice cut straight through the low chattering all around.
''Escaped my brother's clutches, did you? Good on you, boy.''
Upon peering over his shoulder, Harry noticed a bearded man lingering in the doorway whom he recognised only from a single picture in Voldemort's documentation on the Order. He had something gruff, the blame for which could either lie on his plain, slightly dirty robes, or on the unkempt eyebrows that were knitted together in a perpetual frown. The only resemblance to his brother were the eyes.
''Aberforth-'' McGonagall sharply said. ''Do show your brother some-''
''-don't put the word respect in your mouth, Minerva, or I'll pour all my bottles of Gillywater down the drain out of pure spite. Remember when you came to my pub just a while ago, bragging about Albus' great scheme of rescuing poor innocent children from the clutches of a madman? That story got quite a sour twist now, huh? Thank Merlin's shiny behind for me being too fast asleep to notice that 'distress' Patronus call. Wish I'd missed this one too,'' he muttered as if in afterthought.
''Bragging?'' the woman scoffed. ''I was worried, Aberforth! For my friends, my colleagues, the children, your brother! You are the one who said Albus would be fine.''
''And he would have been, if he would truly have had noble intentions,'' the man scoffed, pushing himself off the doorframe to stroll into the living room. ''It surprises me little that he did not, scheming to kill the very student he wished to save. I told you not to involve yourself too deeply, Minerva.''
''Advice I followed, against my better judgement.''
''And? Had any trouble, caused by my brother or otherwise, afterwards?''
''Had Albus still been here, Dementors would never have dared-''
''Bollocks!'' The word contained a rare fury. ''The Dementors didn't think twice about the great Albus Dumbledore when swooping in to sate their hunger. Did they, Potter?'' Aberforth barked.
Harry's first instinct was to grasp for his standard response of a hesitant 'errr' at being addressed so suddenly, but his brain helpfully provided the mental image of a furious Narcissa correcting such a daft response. His mouth thus did not spout any incomprehensible noises. Instead, Harry had the mind to turn a bit more firmly in his chair as a better alternative to swivelling his head back and forth between his Professor and this second Dumbledore he'd only been vaguely aware of existing prior to today.
Clearing his throat, Harry replied: ''I have to give some credit to Professor Dumbledore for his firm stance against Dementors, but although they'd likely not challenge him directly, he would have had no influence on the start of this war. Even if we'd not have captured him when we did, he wouldn't have been anywhere near the event that led up to this.''
Seemingly satisfied, the man spread his arms. ''And there you have it, Minerva. Happy?''
''Absolutely not. We're amidst a war and the most competent wizard I know is locked up, at the mercy of his infamous nemesis.''
''Oh, I'm sure he's having a terrible time, with nothing else on his hands than Gellert.'' The accompanying eyeroll couldn't have possibly conveyed more sarcasm. Aberforth really put his entire soul into that one. ''It's going to be the summer of 1899 all over again. Hopefully this time there's no-one within a two-mile radius they can interrupt the sleep of with their ceaseless, excessive... blargh.''
''What happened in 1899?'' one of the Twins asked when Aberforth did not properly finish his sentence. They'd been watching the exchange with increasing interest from their spot at the end of the dining table.
A silencing spell from McGonagall's wand and a glare quickly took away any possibility of Aberforth elaborating. ''Nothing happened, Mr Weasley. Any different claim is slander from the envious.''
Harry did not quite agree to that statement and didn't feel particularly intimidated by his strict teacher now he wasn't sitting in her classroom. ''The entire set-up of this meeting was about informing you of the truth, getting everyone on the same page,'' he spoke. ''Hushing up details you find uncomfortable isn't going to help, especially not when these truths are crucial for our current situation. Grindelwald agreed to keep an eye on Dumbledore because of their past involvement. Bringing him Dumbledore to spend the rest of their days together also got him talkative enough to spill information on an item that might win us this current war.''
George broke the silence that had descended with a dramatic sigh. ''Ah, forbidden romance between enemies winning wars. How romantic.''
''Nice parallels,'' Fred blurted out with a shit-eating grin and wiggling eyebrows.
When Mr and Mrs Weasley traded a look and both quickly shook their heads, Harry figured the Twins had not heard of this from their parents. Bill? Ron? Surely neither would tell their chaotic, gossiping brothers. Apart from them, there really was only one other person who could have spilled the beans on Harry's love life. If it wouldn't be so convenient that Ginny evaded her parents' gaze to rally the D.A. against Umbridge, Harry would have seriously considered calling her out.
''Mr Weasley, do not speak in riddles if you have something you wish to share,'' McGonagall reprimanded.
The Weasley matriarch seemed to have other plans, loudly exclaiming: ''Boys, don't take it too far. Your father and I were very clear about your level of maturity deciding what information you get. Of age or not, you're no members of the Order and it will stay that way.''
Fred wasn't discouraged at all, smirk widening. ''Maturity? But mum… Harry just said it best, didn't he? Not hushing up uncomfortable truths and all. Seems like getting everything out in the open is the responsible thing to do.''
Someone who hadn't spent years interacting with Fred and George might have considered this to be an act of malice. Perhaps they'd try to find what they'd done to accidentally spite the fiends. As the benefactor to their shop, House- and teammate and leader of the D.A. they still clearly counted themselves to be a part of if they'd showed up for the reunion, Harry knew with certainty that he was still in their good books. This was about nothing more than creating what the Twins did best: shock and drama.
Should he play into it or ignore this? Would Harry be a massive hypocrite if he'd gloss over the comment? It was true that his relationship was currently quite significant to how the future of the Wizarding world would be shaped, as Harry had only been able to offer truly open critique when deemed a fully equal partner by the Dark Lord. He'd agreed to follow Voldemort to the end of the world long before getting romantically attached, but it hadn't carried the same weight.
Was it really such a secret still that he couldn't easily share it? Other than what the Twins might think, only a handful of people here were currently not in the know. Perhaps it would be enough to finally convince McGonagall to stop clinging onto Dumbledore's old plans. It wasn't ideal that Alecto was watching, considering all the fussy Pure-Blood rules, but the Carrows had been the ones gearing up to torture anyone who dared spread unfavourable rumours about Voldemort and Harry, months ago.
Hopefully, he'd also shown enough power that she wouldn't fly into a rage about disrespect when he said: ''Frankly, I hope the romance between Voldemort and I will be slightly healthier. I don't fancy a big duel or locking him up while wallowing in self-misery for the next century. Right, I did want to ask you guys if you'd hoard some fireworks for me, I can't imagine our future wedding without sparks spelling out 'you-no-poo' behind his back while we kiss. It'd be a tragedy to miss out on the most dangerous stunt you could ever pull in your lifetime.'' Harry very much ignored Alecto's shocked hiss.
He couldn't tell whether the suddenly misty eyes were genuine or if the Twins had created a candy with the same effect of cutting onions.
''We love you,'' they chimed in unison.
''Don't let him hear that, he's not very good at nuances in humour unless he's picking your brain apart to study your emotions while you say it.''
''Ah, blast you boggin idiot,'' Aberforth loudly cursed, finally having gotten rid of McGonagall's spell. ''Here I thought I might like you, Potter, but you're following right in Albus' footsteps. I'm going home. Need to empty my stash to forget I know any of you people. If any Dementors come knocking, I'll send my goat at them, that's all the protection I'll need.''
Despite the harsh exclamations and demonstrative grasp in the pot of floo powder, Aberforth did not leave instantly, face a thundercloud as he chewed over his parting words: ''What my brother planned was wrong and I hope he uses at least some of the time in prison for repentance. In light of what was revealed about You-Know-Who's aims and the current war, you need not worry about me attempting to rescue him. Or any sort of vengeance on Albus' behalf. I keep my oaths, and as I told Minerva a while ago, I can't see how it's a bad thing for the rest of the world to become like Hogsmeade: peaceful, without any Muggle nonsense or Dementors to bother us. That being said, I can't recommend a dalliance with a Dark Lord. You might end up with more collateral than you can handle.''
Harry did not get a chance to say more than ''Thanks for the-'', as Dumbledore stomped over towards the fireplace and disappeared after roughly having thrown the hand of floo powder in. In a flash of emerald, he was gone.
''Well,'' Mr Weasley tiredly sighed. ''I really don't know what you expected to come of that, Harry.''
''Transparency,'' he answered, turning serious as he faced his Transfiguration professor again, who appeared to be in a daze of disbelief. ''Professor Dumbledore expected me to murder Voldemort. There's a hundred reasons for why I won't, but perhaps the one you can understand best is that I won't lay a hand on the one I love. You will not convince me to stand against him, nor to come with you, nor to talk about alternative options than what Voldemort has deemed best for the future. I'll assume that Ron and Bill have cleared up some misconception on how that future is likely to look, and ask personally for your aid in setting differences aside to protect our society from a common enemy.''
''You expect a killer to keep us safe.'' The woman whispered.
''So do you,'' Harry countered. ''How many people died because of Dumbledore? How many killed dark wizards for him? As I just said, he was actively plotting to murder Voldemort – and sacrifice myself in the process if need be. Forgive me for not being sympathetic to this argument.''
A deep voice interjected: ''Your request includes lying to everyone else about Dumbledore's support.''
''Yes,'' he plainly answered, turning to Kingsley. ''Not my fault that the real Dumbledore is so stubborn about accepting anything Voldemort says. He's not been cooperative so far, and the start of the war went a bit too fast to check Nurmengard to see whether he's had a change of heart yet. It's not ideal, but the only option that will keep people safe in both the short and long run. The truth will shatter this alliance and with it, any chance we have to keep the peace among ourselves. The attacks have already begun: Diagon Alley was overrun by Dementors yesterday evening, more than one mage was Kissed.''
''We've heard,'' Tonks dejectedly spoke. She didn't look like her usual vibrant self, hair all mousy. ''Kingsley and I were informed not to go into work today as the Ministry has temporarily been evacuated due to being so close to Diagon. The building is suspected to be targeted next. All Aurors are on field duty for the upcoming days by direct order of Minister Bones.''
''Then you realise how important it is to have a place to evacuate everyone to. Voldemort is checking whether Hogwarts is an option as it would be ideal due to its size and wards. What would not be great is if everyone we try to shield from the Dementors picks sides and starts bashing each other's heads in instead of working together.''
''So we forget about our dead and leave our leader in chains for the illusion of peace?'' McGonagall inquired. ''Say that we successfully hide and You-Know-Who finds a way to contain the Dementors as Weasley explained he's striving for. This won't hold. We're only postponing another civil war between light and dark mages.''
''We cannot say what happens in the coming years, Professor. What spells will be invented, what laws will be agreed upon, what unlikely friendships may be forged that could change the course of wars. The future isn't set in stone. I'm asking about the here and now. We need competent mages who are familiar with the Patronus charm as those are the only people who can move across the country in relative safety and help civilians – light and dark - evacuate. That's all that really matters in the moment, can we at least agree on that?''
McGonagall briefly closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. ''I can scarcely believe I am saying this,'' she whispered. ''But yes. I do agree on that with you, Potter. What has the world come to…'' it didn't take long before her sharp gaze was back on him. ''And what of you? Weasley mentioned that you and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-named are working on a weapon?''
With the Head of the Unspeakables having named Harry himself as such, he wasn't fond of the word, but could not find a better term. ''We will, didn't exactly get around to working on it much between Voldemort leaving for Hogwarts and my narrow escape from Dementors in Diagon.''
''I thought you did not wish to become a weapon?'' Tonks asked.
''I thought you supposedly weren't present during the meeting of the Department Heads, Ms Brocklehurst?'' Harry shot back, revealing he knew about her little impersonation stunt at the Ministry. Tonks did not need her Metamorphmagi skills to flush scarlet at being called out. ''But you're right, I won't be. I'd like to not die from casting excessive death magic. We'll try to figure out how my ability to kill Dementors can be used by others, or if it can perhaps be transferred to an object. As we're in the earliest stage of theorising about it, I can't say how long we'll take before having anything useful to work with.''
With a slight burst of shame that Harry very quickly repressed, he realised how much he was looking forward to this. When instructions had been given, when he needn't worry for the safety of his friends anymore, when other people were taking care of stalling time on the surface, he would finally be able to shut himself in. Sequestered in a little bubble to dive back into learning magic with the undivided attention of the Dark Lord on him. Harry could pretend it was just another summer away from grand revelations and their consequences, with the occasional visit from other loved ones. Was it selfish to indulge in that mirage when the ultimate goal, ending the war, remained?
''I cannot do this.'' Despite the relatively calm tone it had been said in, Kingsley's deep voice was impossible not to hear booming around the living room. The knot that had slowly loosened in Harry's stomach over the course of the conversation was back as if having been conjured directly inside of him.
Slowly, the tall man rose from his seat and placed a fist to his heart. ''I cannot be one of those men who remains complacent when the world around them becomes unrecognisable. I am no Dawlish who adheres to the law by the letter without ever questioning whether it is just. I am no Bones who cares not for who takes action as long as the action itself is justifiable. I'm not even a Weasley – no offense Molly, Arthur – who bases choices on what is best for those close to me. I follow principles larger than myself. I will take no action that aids tyranny. I cannot do what is demanded of us.''
Harry had expected silence to follow that solemn statement. He sure didn't immediately know what to say. Nevertheless, the kitchen exploded in a mess of sound, colours and whirling movement. Alecto jumped to her feet and pointed a wand at Kingsley, the other members of the Order all seemed to have wisdom or warnings to impart on their friend, and Ron…
The only clear image Harry could focus on was Ron's torn expression as he spoke the same incantation with which his friend had trapped Albus Dumbledore. The walls, ceiling and floors flooded pink, dormant spells activating beneath everyone's feet. The fire was snuffed out, a heaviness made clear apparition or portkeys were no longer viable options to escape. The wand in his hand trembled – not Ron's own, the spare one Harry had used to go untraced before having received the Wand of Destiny mere days ago. Had Barty handed it to Ron?
''Wait, let's talk about this!'' Harry spoke up, stepping in between Kingsley – who had attempted to move towards the open back door until seeing it was now covered in impervious frosted glass - and Alecto's pointed wand. If they were trapped in here anyways, there was no reason not to try the route of conversation before firing the deadly curse that was surely on the tip of the Death Eater's tongue.
''With all due respect,'' the woman stiffly spoke, ''If this is Shacklebolt's stance after hearing the entire version of events, he cannot be allowed to live.''
''You barely gave him a chance to speak before jumping at the opportunity to off him!''
''Do you think they merely listened quietly yesterday?'' Alecto bit back with no small amount of irritation. ''We're through with the questions, the discussions, hours of it. It's not as if we're asking any of them to swear fealty to our Lord, He mercifully agreed to let them go after giving their word on a ceasefire, aiding us in our fight against the Dementors and remaining silent about Albus Dumbledore's fate. If Shacklebolt's principles are so strong that he rejects that gracious offer, there's nothing he can give us that is worth the risk of leaving him alive. You did not disagree with our Lord's decree yesterday.''
Stubbornly, Harry ignored her argument in favour of approaching Kingsley, ensuring to keep himself in the line of fire. ''Why?'' he asked, coming to a halt in front of the Auror. ''Why not help us? You must see how detrimental it would be to fight against Voldemort now. You say it's because you're against tyranny, but he is not ruling. The position of Minister for Magic has just been filled by someone else.''
''By his doing,'' the deep voice spoke with more calm than anticipated. ''Only with his approval. Tonks told me how that meeting went down, in which You-Know-Who made very clear he chose Fudge's successor, whom he'll influence from the sidelines. Bones being in power is nothing more than another deception to keep the public from revolting against being obviously influenced by a Dark Lord. Harry, there's a simple truth to this: the choice I have been given is to help or die. No in-betweens, no option for neutrality. Carrow is here only to serve as an executioner for those You-Know-Who's will cannot be forced upon. That is a system I cannot work with, for there are never lines where the atrocities stop. Free choice turns into fear at every step. The current demand may be something I could still agree with in theory, but which ones will come next with my life as the alternative price? If I give in now, I open myself up to becoming someone I will no longer be able to face.''
Dark eyes gazed over Harry's shoulder, presumably travelling over the rest of the Order, none of whom spoke up. The teen did not dare to look back to gauge who was having second thoughts. He'd rely on Ron and on his own shields to keep safe from anyone who'd interfere.
''Is the system you currently work for any different?'' Harry challenged. ''You are an Auror who at the same time fought for the Order of the Phoenix, an organisation branded as terrorists by the Ministry. Had your employer found out you were a member, you'd have been thrown in prison for aiding Dumbledore in obstruction. The law you enforced in your job is a string of actions and consequences. After the last war for example, caught Death Eaters received a choice between giving up more names or getting Kissed. Is that not the same type of oppression?''
Kingsley dipped his head, oddly friendly as he looked Harry straight in the eyes. ''It is. Which is why the Ministry would never have been able to make me agree under influence of Veritaserum to fully cooperate with them either. I chose to be part of a group who undermined them, during the war and after. I disagreed with the skewed sense of justice that landed people in prison without a trial or coerced confessions and joined the Order to fight against this. Tonks and I kept the other Aurors from picking up on Sirius Black's trail once we knew of his innocence. As for the Order itself… I was free to leave at any moment. It might have confused or angered some, yes, but had I wanted to disconnect myself from them, Dumbledore would have let me without threats of violence.''
Next to Harry's, his best friend stepped up so Ron and he were standing side by side. ''So what is the alternative you propose?'' Ron asked. ''You'll run off to do your own thing in hopes it won't backfire? I have my family to think of!''
''And you can bring yourself to kill me, Ron Weasley?'' Kingsley neutrally asked, making the other wince. ''Or will you stand by while another finishes me off? Is that the way of your family?'' Behind them, Harry heard a soft gasp that he believed to have come from Mrs Weasley. ''I don't think so. I'm surprised you trapped me at all. A bit disappointed in how far You-Know-Who has influenced you already.''
''I…'' Ron faltered. ''I don't want you to die, I'd hoped Harry could convince you to see sense. It's so clear to me that the only smart option is to stick together that I don't get how anyone disagrees. The full picture is so much larger than any of us.''
''Seeing the bigger picture is meaningless when it consists of ugly details. When my aid is forced at the threat of death by a man who has already paved our country with the bones of his enemies once before, I cannot justify going along with it quietly. Not in this lifetime. Now step aside, boys. Someone is itching to off me, and I won't have you in the crossfire.'' That being said, Kingsley raised his own wand.
With a funny feeling in his stomach, Harry trusted enough in Kingsley's morals not to strike him in the back and turned around to face the Death Eater who'd been sent here with the sole purpose of making the Order of the Phoenix comply. Alecto had not relented her stance, fury having built up further if anything.
Yet she was not the only one who had had time to think the situation over. When Harry's gaze drifted further, it was clear as day that Kingsley's friends wouldn't hesitate to jump into the fray if it came down to a fight. That McGonagall had conceded to Harry's points wouldn't matter at all if Alecto were to start throwing around Killing Curses. The rebellion they'd been trying to avoid by making the Order see their way would be sparked right here and now if one of Voldemort's followers would prove they'd been right about the Dark Lord all along. Which would happen in their eyes if Kingsley would be murdered today.
Hopefully Voldemort would be forgiving for Harry's next move.
''I propose a duel without lethal curses.''
If Harry wouldn't be under the Dark lord's protection, he was pretty sure a lethal curse would have been fired at his face.
''What?''
''We have a prison other than Azkaban. Look, the purpose of these talks was finding aid while trying to avoid the risk of destabilising inner peace. Killing off mages who disagree on principle, not because they want to help the enemy, is going to accomplish nothing. The rest of the Order is only helping for a limited time anyways, as Professor McGonagall pointed out. Setting differences aside for the sake of survival, to protect everyone from a hoard of Dementors. Imprisonment until the war is over will accomplish the same for us as killing him.''
There was the small hurdle of said prison being known to the Dementors, but there were ways to counter that. If Voldemort could hide it with more dimensional shifting, them knowing the location wouldn't matter anymore.
Kingsley cleared his throat. ''As much as I appreciate your bargaining for my life, I most certainly am not looking forward to spending a decade or two in a damp cell.''
''That's what the duel is for,'' Harry stubbornly said. ''By the looks of it, you two will fight anyways and if you win, you'll run free. You're right in that no-one else here is able or willing to kill you, myself included. So, I'm trying to improve the stakes of what happens when you lose.'' Harry wished he could step in to duel Kingsley by himself to ensure a clean fight. With an unbeatable wand and shields that threw every hit that landed on him back at the attacker, victory would be guaranteed too, but it left too sour a taste in his mouth how unfair a fight that would be. Harry had his pride. Cheating in a duel was not something he could ever choose to do.
Alecto didn't seem to take his suggestion very well. ''Potter, you have no power to command me-''
''But I do. Were you not paying attention yesterday? Our people. In absence of the Dark Lord, I'm very well able to make decisions like this. Kingsley will live one way or the other. If you dare fire something lethal, I'll throw myself in between. I assure you that you don't want to deal with the fallout of that.''
''It is a fair deal to me,'' Kingsley agreed. ''A chance to fight for my freedom without risking anyone else getting hurt is honourable.''
Harry was about to sigh in relief when Mrs Weasley urgently spoke up, wiping her hands nervously on the apron she wore with fading patterns of dancing vegetables: ''There will be no bloody duels happening in my house! With or without curses! Kingsley, there must be a different way to solve this. Minerva, Tonks, darling, are you all just going to sit there and let it happen?''
Arthur was the only one who answered his wife, tiredly stating: ''Unless one of them concedes prior to the fight, there's no better option. I have a feeling we'd be worse off when attempting to intervene,'' he spoke with a pointed look at Harry, Ron and even Bill. ''I would suggest moving this to the garden if possible. Although I wouldn't mind if a few of Muriel's gifted vases get shattered, there's much of actual sentimental value here as well.''
''Arthur!''
Clearly unhappy, Alecto barked at Ron: ''How far do the anti-apparition wards go?''
''Far enough. You-Know-Who was thorough when setting them up.''
The rolling fields that surrounded the Burrow looked deceptively peaceful for something that was going to be a battleground soon, Harry found when stepping outside. He tried to tell himself to lighten up, that it wasn't going to be so serious now he'd ordered Alecto to hold back. No-one was going to die today. Imprisonment was a fair deal for being so unhelpful, especially in a prison without soul-sucking monsters.
The Twins seemed to agree with Harry's inner monologue, apparently having deemed the upcoming duel fair game for betting, whispering ludicrous numbers to each other. Then again, they'd also bet on Harry's demise in the Triwizard Tournament, so maybe he shouldn't take that as a sign. Their mother grew red as soon as she caught onto what they were doing, furiously ushering the Twins back inside under threat of visiting their shop to read out embarrassing childhood memories to their customers. Harry thought better than to stop her. He still didn't know what his current relationship with the Twins was or how they'd react, watching this duel if it didn't go the way they envisioned.
''Who do you want to win, honestly?'' Ron whispered to him, looking rather pale. ''Should I not have activated the obstruction ward?''
Harry lightly shook his head. ''Voldemort was right about the risks, so I hope Kingsley loses this fight. I'm glad you reacted as fast as you did. Also a tad surprised that he spoke up rather than simply apparate out while he could. Why was it so easy to leave anyways? Seems like a major security risk.''
''I know, but with Dementors targeting magical areas, we couldn't afford to permanently be locked in here without a quick way out in case of emergency. It's what the Death Eaters were supposed to be there for: security, watching and ready to stop anyone who'd look like they were about to apparate. Carrow cast a body-bind on mum yesterday when she was cooking, cause mum turned back and forth too fast in a hurry to check the oven. That was before my parents had promised their aid under Veritaserum of course. I suppose Kingsley knew he wouldn't get away with trying to sneakily apparate, not with him, McGonagall and Tonks being the only ones Carrow was still really watching. With him declaring not to cooperate at all, I figured he'd throw caution to the wind.''
Humming in agreement, he watched on while Alecto and Kingsley took stiff, formal bows. Harry could not take an educated guess about their chances. Both had been trained well and were clearly no amateurs in duelling. From the get-go, their footwork and wand grips were impeccable, slowly circling around each other to look for an opening.
Alecto struck first, a fast volley of blue lights that turned into solid daggers of ice flying from the tip of her wand, only to crash into a physical shield of enlarged, sturdy blades of grass. The shield was obliterated instantly, but it gave Kingsley enough time to move back and prepare a counter-attack.
To Harry, who had been trained extensively in duelling with a focus on using heavy magic, the difference between the dueller's repertoires was staggering. Kingsley did not lack creativity for sure, but it became clear very quickly that he relied largely on the limited range of powerful offensive and defensive spells that could be accomplished with nothing more than one's own energy: stunners, basic evocation, binding spells, temporary shields and transfiguration.
On the other side of the battlefield, Alecto shed blood, hair and tears to gain access to advantageous, powerful spells that made her withstand Kingsley's attacks without having to move around much and turned his environment against him. He could no longer transfigure the grass once it was drenched in Alecto's blood and turned spiky and steely wherever Kingsley stepped, refusing to budge to his will. Could no longer conjure fire once the Death Eater had cursed the air to drain it of oxygen each time the man attempted to do so, sparks dying on the tip of his wand – Harry was on edge after she'd used that spell, for he knew it could be used for deadly purposes if enough breathable air was drawn away. Slowly but surely, the hampering of the Auror's available spells began to wear Kingsley down. A vicious tactic Harry would have to keep in mind.
As magical duels were prone to do, the tide turned suddenly, when Kingsley precisely shot a series of red streaks around the edges of Alecto's shield and hit her leg, which turned bendy and fleshy in a nauseating reminder of the failed healing spell Lockhart had once cast upon Harry's own arm. She buckled from the removed bone, spending too many seconds trying to find her balance and narrowly rolling out of the way from a direct stunner. ''No!'' she yelled, panicking as Kingsley strode towards her. She scrambled back, eyes bulging and neat bun completely undone. All the superior power of her previous stance was gone in a heartbeat. ''You cannot win, my Lord will-''
''Expelli-''
''Marwolaeth!'' Carrow cried, a hair's breadth faster than Kingsley. A purple flame shot from her wand, a colour that had Harry jump to his feet so quick that a spell of dizziness hit him. Blood pounded in his ears when the light hit its target, right across the chest. Kingsley crumpled to the ground, motionless.
''No,'' Harry whispered to himself, then jumped forward, rushing to immobile man's side. ''No! Carrow, what did you do?'' Angrily facing her, he was struck by how much older the woman suddenly looked, streaks of grey in her hair that hadn't been there before, smooth skin replaced by wrinkles that made her look years older.
''I- I couldn't lose,'' she wheezed, desperate. ''You don't understand, Potter! The Dark Lord isn't as forgiving with us as he is with you! I wouldn't have lost my head if Shacklebolt would have run!''
''I'm not asking for your excuse, I'm asking what you did so it can be undone!'' he snapped back, frantically pressing his fingers to Kingsley's neck and wrists. When he did find a pulse, it was exceedingly weak and far too slow. ''I promised Kingsley that he'd live! I trusted you to uphold my word! The counter-curse, now!'' By the time she would have explained the exact effects of this curse – if she even knew it, most mages were perfectly content to learn nothing more beyond the end-result – it would be too late to heal.
Hesitantly, Alecto shook her head, a flash of guilt at last replacing the panic. ''I don't know. Dolohov invented the spell and taught me, but he didn't bother teaching how to undo it. Not sure if he bothered with inventing a counter-curse in the first place. He's not known for precaution.''
Dolohov was much too far away, too. He wouldn't be reached before it was too late.
This couldn't be happening. Under the eyes of the very people who'd once trusted him, called him a friend and family, his word had been broken and Harry could do nothing but hold Kingsley's hand as life was slipping away. The other hand was taken too, by a distraught McGonagall who refused to look Harry in the eyes, muttering healing spells he already knew were not going to be enough to counter a curse imbued with death magic.
''Mate…'' Ron said, kneeling down next to him. ''Not that I don't have faith in your healing abilities after seeing you practise on that creepy life-like doll but… just in case, you know. Here.'' Unceremoniously, a bundle of silver cloth was shoved into his hands.
''It doesn't work like that,'' Harry countered. ''I can't just don the cloak, snap my fingers and pull someone back.'' The Weasley were likely not going to be happy about having an Inferius in their backyard.
''But he's not dead yet. One foot in the grave, Sirius called it,'' Ron stubbornly continued. ''Didn't he suggest the same for Umbridge? If just the body-''
Not in this lifetime, Kingsley had said. He'd said nothing about the next.
It would have been better if he did not know the steps. If he could feign ignorance about the necessary preparation. That did not fly anymore since his godfather's suggestion to repeat the ritual that had brought Sirius back from the dead had made Harry read the texts and review his memories of that evening more than once in Voldemort's Pensieve. How to suspend the soul and mind of a dying body, how to heal it and draw life back into it… He had not wanted Kingsley to die, so the will to bring him back was not going to be a hindrance either.
Just yesterday, Hermione had expressed her disgust over the purposeful creation of another slave race in form of obedient resurrected people. Would she condemn him or see the necessity of it?
Could Harry live with having yet another person magically tied to him, one he'd hardly known before today?
He'd preached of action and consequence prior. Was it morbid to think about the consequences of resurrecting Kingsley before the man had uttered his last breath?
''Potter-'' McGonagall spoke. ''Is Mr Weasley right? Can you do something about his state?''
She wouldn't be asking this with so much hope if she knew with full clarity what Ron was suggesting. That hope was enough to make up Harry's mind, though. Without a counter-curse, any hope for survival was already gone. Alecto had, in her desperation, put years of her own life into this one spell. There was no coming back from that. Not without dying first anyways. From the looks of it, that would not take long, so if Harry wanted any hope of bringing back more than a mindless corpse, he better get started.
''Does Kingsley have any middle names, Professor? I need his full name.''
''He does not,'' she answered with a hint of confusion. ''I don't see how that is relevant for healing.''
''Does anyone happen to know the origin of his name?'' he pressed on without humouring her comment. ''The exact etymology?''
With more irritation at the odd questions now, the Professor spoke: '' I don't know that on top of my head, Potter and I doubt Molly and Arthur have a lexicon on old names at hand.''
Shame, it had been worth a tiny shot.
''Cyningleah in old English, or King's woodland meadow,'' came the surprising answer from an even more surprising source: Alecto Carrow. ''His surname is quite literal, referring to the bolt that fastens shackles.'' When Harry arched his eyebrow at her, she raised her own, now greying ones. ''My field of study is History of Magic, including genealogy of old wizarding families. Naturally, that includes the etymology of names for purposes of magical rituals.''
Questioning her knowledge had not been the reason for Harry's inquiring look, although Tonks - who stood a few feet away and looked down upon her colleague with concern - articulated it better than he could, suspiciously asking: ''And you're suddenly helping to save his life… why?''
''I have a feeling it will solve all of our problems. We won't even need to imprison Shacklebolt anymore.''
Tuning out the back-and-forth commentary, Harry dug in his memory of the latin studies Voldemort had assured he'd needed. Harry had not been good in retaining much of that information, especially not as the lessons had been few and far between more interesting subjects. King was Rex, but woodland meadow was such a specific word that Harry doubted he'd ever come across it. As the minutes were slipping away, he decided to improvise. The only reason to translate the true name was to ensure it was recognised as part of the spell, but he'd given commands in the Black Cosmos in English too. That this was Voldemort's preferred way did not mean it was the only way – something Harry was sure made for a good parallel to many other situations for which he currently did not have the space of mind to analyse. Or the time.
Drawing the Death Stick, he prayed its reputation as the world's most powerful wand possibly having its origin in a family of Necromancers would be of any help. They needed any help they could get, as theory and practise were very different. He'd never performed the first part of this rite.
''I'm sorry, Kingsley,'' he muttered. ''I wish I were a better Healer.'' Inhaling deeply, he put the wand to the man's sternum. It was barely moving, every breath shallower. ''Professor, please move away. Ron, Alecto, keep everyone at a distance no matter what happens.''
An anaesthetic charm – Kingsley suddenly passing away from the shock of pain was the last thing he needed - was followed by a precise cut to open first the deep cobalt robes and then into the flesh beneath. The blood that oozed out was sluggish, welling up like cooling magma. Harry struck out, grasping the weak heart that beat lazily and irregularly. ''Mens et animus Cyningleah Catena Pessulum. Aequilibrium.''
Beneath all the blood, a shimmer of silver glowed. Harry did not let go as Voldemort had done, feeling compelled to hold onto Kingsley as long as possible, to take on the burden of his death, brief as it would be, indirectly caused by Harry through the proposed duel. If Kingsley had fought Alecto off inside, perhaps it would not have come to this…
It took another few minutes before the heart ultimately gave out, the body succumbing to the curse. Harry felt the traces of life seep out and scatter in the wind, moving into the great everything, slipping between the cracks of worlds.
Looking down at the cavity in the broad chest, Harry was shaken by how only last Christmas, he'd been blind in the face of such a challenge. Voldemort had spoken so casually of how they'd only needed to heal the body and reconnect the mind and soul and Harry finally understood why.
It was quite simple when one looked at a body as merely another component in a ritual. He'd learned so many different aspects of Necromancy in the past months that this was so natural that Harry found it wondrous resurrection was not common practise. Why did so many people need to die when bringing them back could be accomplished with barely more than words?
Like had been the case with Sirius, the curse that had felled Kingsley had faded too, having accomplished its goal of murder. Without anymore life to choke out, the death magic had nothing left to nourish on. With the curse gone, the remaining injuries were insignificant enough that patching the corpse up into a functioning vessel again was little trouble. The worst of it was what Harry himself had done to it to reach the heart, resulting in a blood loss that was going to be a tad unpleasant for Kingsley upon waking. Adults could thankfully lose about fifteen percent of their blood without any complications. The curse had worked in Kingsley's favour regarding that, preventing too much from spilling.
Once he could move onto carving the necessary diagram of geometric lines that vaguely resembled a human body into the earth, he finally caught a glimpse of his onlookers, all of whom had given up on arguing. A group of silent sentinels, bearing witness to this performance of magic that was heralded by some and reviled by most.
Wrapping himself in the protection of the invisibility cloak, the veil that would anchor Harry's own body, he reasoned that this could not possibly break the promise to Voldemort not to perform reckless death magic out of sight. It was a ritual they'd already performed together once. That hardly counted as reckless, did it?
Pushing the thought aside, he made a cut to let blood drip on Kingsley's forehead. Blood for blood.
A sense of purpose strengthened the Necromancer when opening his eyes to shifting colours in the world of the dead. The demise he'd caused still weighing heavy on his mind, it was easy to ignore Ruin's pull. It had ensnared him last time, tried to claim Harry in return for power beyond anyone's full control. Today, he would not be overtaken by it, staying true to the small yellow thing that had chosen him as its herald: Glory.
It thrummed with familiar warmth upon drifting closer. The situation was familiar: the day he'd asked for life to save Sirius and carried Glory's light out into the world of the living had been the first time Harry had stepped foot in the Black Cosmos. Coming back to rectify an eerily similar situation felt right, despite consciously knowing it was anything but.
''I call upon you, Glory,'' he spoke when facing what he knew to be this realm's most powerful entity. It emitted a calming radiance even as power beat in synch with Harry's soul. ''To gift me life to restore the destruction I unwittingly left in my wake. Again.''
Did it seem… amused? Could a glowing moon be amused? Had Harry messed his own head up by breaking through the barriers separating their dimensions once too many?
He hissed when his hands started glowing, the pain unbearable as flesh sizzled with pure life that was forcefully drawn towards him to carry.
It did feel as if he'd hit his head when waking up in shock, dizzy and drained as the cloak slipped off. Having no-one to incessantly remind him of the next steps with that tone of impatient pressure only Voldemort could manage while sounding both nagging and helpful, Harry had to spur himself into action. His hands no longer hurt, the drops of glowing light trembling in his palms. Carefully, he put his right one on Kingsley's chest, where the heart still contained the man's mind and soul, and the left on his forehead. The drops of life sank into skin and had an instant effect, the body jerking back and forth as it adjusted to the change.
With a last great effort, the continuous spell of equilibrium was broken, and Harry moved back to make space.
Kingsley did not react as positively as Sirius had. He gathered his wits quicker and certainly did not move in for a hug. ''The fight- Carrow-'' he coughed, snatching his hat from the ground, only pausing to inspect the sticky blood that clung to it. ''What sabotage happened here, Potter?'' he grumbled, patting his chest, taking note of the ruined robes. ''What spell hit me? Who won?''
''How much do you remember?''
The Auror stilled, hand slipping to hang loosely at his side. ''A violet flash, searing heat, unimaginable pain that burned me from the inside and then... cold.'' His voice dropped down to a shivering whisper. ''A terrible cold, grey space.'' Sharp eyes turned to their spectators, who were waiting behind a transparent barrier Harry had seen before, erected by Alecto during his own Defense O. W. L. to protect those watching from the duel. It was obvious they'd all stood there for a while.
''The one rule I set was broken,'' Harry admitted, casting his gaze downwards in shame. ''I couldn't protect you, Kingsley. A grave curse hit you and no-one here knew how to counter it in time. There's no pleasant way to say this so I'll tell you bluntly: a part of you died today, a part I replaced. Your soul and mind are still your original, but I put new life into your body after the last shimmer of it was gone. You'll need a while to adjust, but-''
''-You are a Necromancer?'' The man hissed, distressed as he abruptly took a few steps back to put distance between them. Great, so Kingsley wasn't a fan.
''Yes,'' Harry admitted. ''Which – from a certain point of view – saved you today.''
Kingsley quickly shook his head, raising his own hands to his face to look at them. ''No. No, that is not possible. I am still human. I think, I feel. I am not some puppet belonging to a dark wizard.''
The crisis was understandable, and Harry did indeed not at all agree with Voldemort's jabs at Sirius for being no more than a 'corpse puppet' but considering Kingsley's previous stance against working with them, Harry had a feeling he wouldn't completely get around using commands to keep the Auror in line. Best make Kingsley aware of it quickly, then. ''I won't use this often,'' he promised up front, then demanded: ''Sit down and raise your left hand.''
Kingsley sank to the ground instantly, muttering a 'yes master', large hand shooting up in the air. A second later, the man looked at it with dawning horror on his face.
''As I said, I won't use it often, whatever small reassurance that may be for you. The alternative was letting you die, Kingsley. You understand that? There was nothing else I could have done to get you back.''
''I'm not the first,'' the Auror muttered. ''For you to be so sure of this all. How many others do you command, Potter?''
''One. Sirius. Whom I've only 'commanded' either by accident or because he pestered me about finding the limits of this connection.'' Then, Harry groaned. ''Oh, he's going to be far too ecstatic about this. You know, I'm actually rather glad you're taking this in a normal way. Once Sirius fully realised he actually died and returned to life, he embraced it with his entire being and insists it the best thing that ever happened to him. I've been trying to find a way to break this whole master-servant bond matter to free him, but Sirius has not been cooperative with that,'' Harry vented, harshly kicking a rock that was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It flew in a wide arch further into the field.
''I could help.''
It had been said so quickly that they both exchanged a surprised look. Kingsley cleared his throat. ''Admittedly, I'm not certain if I want to help because of this… connection as you called it, or because it would surely be beneficial to me if you know of a way to break this compulsion. Either way, I offer my aid.''
''That will involve staying close to me and in turn, close to Voldemort, the person you branded as the tyrant whom you wanted nothing to do with.''
Kingsley did not get a chance to answer, as the barrier was broken – Harry had been too engrossed in the talk to see whether Alecto had cancelled the charm or whether one of the others had forced their way through, McGonagall marching over to check on them. ''Goodness,'' she breathed, wide eyes roaming over Kingsley's body. ''Ronald's claim sounded so outlandish but here you are… alive. Potter, since when-''
''Err, I picked up bits and pieces for about a year. As for touching death magic myself, last Christmas?''
''A mere eight months? If only you had listened to my transfiguration lectures with as much vigour as you've taken to the teachings of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!''
''I got an Outstanding on my Transfiguration O.W.L.!'' Harry protested to counter her offended tone. ''Alecto and Amycus checked both my theoretical and practical exam and gave me an O!''
''He was truly remarkable,'' Alecto threw in, having caught up. ''Lost some points when blasting a few plants he was supposed to hold off with transfigurative spells to bits, but on the other hand, he turned grass into whips of fire in the midst of a duel, so more than made up for the other transgression.''
''I don't believe I hold your assessment in high regard, Carrow,'' the stern woman coolly stated. ''Certainly not after today. Kingsley, are you alright? Should we fetch you a drink?'' She'd conjured a silver goblet and filled it to the brim with crystal-clear water before the man affirmed it.
He accepted it, though as he did not drink, it was a gesture of politeness more than anything. ''I'd like some rest. Some peace. To continue my talk with Pot- Harry. You said you preferred Harry, didn't you? First time we met.''
Nodding mutedly, the teen guided Kingsley back inside the Burrow, where Mrs Weasley and both glum Twins were waiting. Next to them sat an equally glum Ginny, curled up against someone Harry had not expected to see here at all: Luna.
''You're back! Who won? Did you?'' Fred or George asked when spotting them, suddenly a whole lot more enthusiastic.
''Complicated,'' Kingsley grumbled. ''Molly, I know you'd been looking forward to having some time to speak to Harry after the future of the Order was sorted out and I'm well aware it's due to myself stalling that you haven't been able to do so… but I must ask for your patience.''
''What does that mean?''
''I don't want to say too much in front of the kids,'' he sighed.
''Oh, don't worry,'' Luna spoke up with a serene smile after eyeing him. ''We belong to Harry too. We're his army, you know.'' Leaning forward, she conspiratorially whispered: ''Dumbledore's army was only a code name, Harry called it the 'Defence Association' whenever he could. Sorry Gin, I know you suggested that one.'' She apologetically patted the other girl on her thigh. ''For what it's worth, 'Dumbledore's Army' has a far better numerological value than 'Harry's army' so there's that.''
Ginny merely groaned. ''Yeah, rub it in. Hey Harry, long time no see. Heard you got up to a whole lot of trouble without us around to keep you out of it since leaving Hogwarts?''
Getting the hint that his friend did not want her mother to find out about the escapade to a celebration of dark witches and wizards, he groaned and took a chair to slump into, stating: ''You could say that. Just added to it right now. Kingsley, I know you want to talk but... I need a minute to process everything as well. None of this was planned.'' At Ginny's look, he only explained: ''Another Sirius situation. The duel didn't go well.'' Then, he paused. ''Did the others tell you about Sirius?''
''You died?'' she asked Kingsley in shock.
The exclamation turned into another headache-inducing round of questions that thankfully, Ron jumped in to answer the bulk of in Harry's stead. The ritual had tired him out quite a bit, and he kept having déjà-vu moments. Everything Kingsley said and did was a reminder of the time Harry had had to calm down an erratic and frightened Sirius. It'd been worse, then, with Voldemort's presence and demands for silence complicating matters and not a single one of them having a real clue as to what the scope of what they'd done had been. Thanks to his godfather's insistence on testing their bond, Harry had a better grasp on it now, knew which commands Kingsley could not fight and which questions would easily be shaken off. Knew too of the devotion and loyalty that would develop over time.
None of that was why he'd come to the Burrow, though. It was another unwelcome distraction on Harry's already messy agenda. The teen closed his eyes briefly, wondering what to tackle next. Should he talk to McGonagall and Tonks once more to ensure they took the same oaths the rest of the Order had already done? Or rather ask Mrs Weasley what she'd wanted to speak to him about? Organise a smaller get-together now five members of his army were here?
''Don't let the Wrackspurts confuse you, Harry. You can fight them,'' came a whisper in his ear, and he awoke to a set of bulging eyes.
''Luna!'' he exclaimed. ''I just- I only rested my eyes for a bit.''
''Must have been a lot of Wrackspurts,'' she voiced her concern. ''Most everyone has left already. Should I blow into your ears? That helps,'' she earnestly offered.
''What do you mean, 'left'?'' he sharply asked.
''Professor McGonagall, Tonks, Mr Weasley,'' she listed off. ''I think Mr Weasley only went to see the rest off, though. The others who are still in the house mostly live here, you know. Or used to.''
''You'd think they wouldn't want to let me out of their sight after what I did today.''
''Mr Shacklebolt sure didn't want to. Neither did Professor Carrow or Ronald, but Mrs Weasley insisted you needed a lot of rest and put the others to work. Only not me because I'm a guest,'' she beamed. ''Mrs Weasley is a lot nicer than most people I've encountered. After I went to the Yule Ball once with Neville, his grandmother would not stop writing prying letters about whether I was dating her grandson and telling me how to behave if I were. Mrs Weasley hasn't asked me once if I'm dating Ginny.''
''Oh. Err. That's… I don't know, is that good? Wait, are you dating Ginny?''
''Of course, who wouldn't want to date Ginny?'' she laughed as if he'd said something incredibly funny.
Harry, who had been very clear about not wanting to date Ginny, did not know how to answer that without insulting two of his friends at once. As much as he'd missed Luna and all her quirks, Harry quickly found that he preferred talking to her in groups of people so others could fill the silences in between. ''So… Wrackspurts?''
Naturally, the question was followed by his head being filled with a book's worth of information on an imaginary creature, but it was the most genuine fun he'd had since following Voldemort through the winding tunnels of the Odesa catacombs without a worry about Dementors, the Order or puzzling dreams that pulled him towards strange symbols.
''Potter,'' he heard Alecto's sharp voice and turned to see her fill the door opening. At his nod, she stiffly moved inside and, after a moment of consideration, arched into a bow. ''My rashness today has caused you inconveniences. I sincerely apologise for my inability to end the duel the way you ordered it. I remain of the opinion that the Dark Lord's word cannot be so easily overwritten, but had I won without using a deadly curse, it would have saved you from having to reveal your abilities to potential enemies.''
He'd not thought twice about showing his abilities now the Ministry had seen him rip Dementors apart. Fawley, the Head of the Department of Mysteries, would likely not rest until figuring out exactly what he'd done to accomplish it, and there were more than enough eyewitnesses to conclude he'd entered the realm of the dead for it. ''I understand you acted out of fear for the Dark Lord's wrath,'' he mildly said. ''As such, I'll leave judgement of the situation to him.'' If Alecto was lucky, Voldemort would be more exasperated by Harry's attempt to mitigate Kingsley's sentence than by his Death Eater casting Harry's opinion aside. ''What of the others? Luna told me that the other Order members who'd refused so far were allowed to leave?''
''Shockingly, Shacklebolt convinced them. Both Tonks and McGonagall were hesitant after the little show outside, but he pointed out they'd already made up their mind after speaking to you and should not change it now for him. They were wise enough to follow that advice. Their promise to aid us was genuine.''
''Why only truth serum?'' Harry asked, having wondered about it before. ''Why not an unbreakable vow or silencing contracts?''
''It would include an element of coercion that isn't wanted.''
''When the only offered alternative was death?''
''They would be bound to those vows and contracts only because of the forceful nature of its magic. Like this, both we and they know that there was at least one point in time in which they truthfully offered help. Perhaps in time, that memory will be enough to shape how they view the world. So many whom we never believed to see our way have, now. Why not them?''
''Surprisingly optimistic.''
''Our Lord believes it to be a realistic goal. Speaking of Him, now all members of the Order who showed today are cooperative, may I return to Hogwarts? I will be more useful at our Lord's side than here. Of course, if you need an extra hand, I am at your disposal.''
''Did Kingsley swear his help under truth serum too?''
''Is it necessary? Shacklebolt is under your direct command. I have seen how Black acts around you despite blasphemously rejecting our Lord's teachings.'' She sounded so honestly surprised by the suggestion that Harry decided it wasn't worth another argument or lengthy explanation. By Kingsley's own words, he wasn't going anywhere until speaking to Harry.
''Alright, I have enough of my own people here to feel safe, thanks,'' he answered, glancing at the blonde girl who'd been silently staring at Carrow this whole time. ''Can you tell Voldemort that I might stay for a bit? Just so he doesn't go berserk when not finding me at home.''
''As you wish. Goodbye for now then, Lord Potter.''
She didn't bother with saying her goodbyes to anyone else, just like she'd not bothered greeting Luna upon entering. For all their hammering on manners, Pure-bloods could be extremely rude.
''You're really intimidating when you interact with Death Eaters.''
''Oh yeah? Wait until you see how I speak to their boss,'' he grinned.
On second thought, sending a message to Voldemort that Harry was hanging out at the Burrow for a while might not have been a good idea, for if his love would misinterpret that information as an invitation, Luna would get to see exactly that.
He'd better hurry with talking to Kingsley, lest the Weasleys would be overwhelmed by a Dark Lord on their doorstep.
