In the Crosshairs
Dragon Voldemort
[A/N: Know these seem to take a while to write, because they do, simply because of how much more effort the other version takes.]
Chapter 57: New Years
Minerva McGonagall had a hunch when she approached the Stone Gargoyle, stepped on it. A familiar light glowed as she ascended on the moving stairs. A touch of the door knob, one that recognized her as Deputy Headmistress, and that of a generous open–door policy, she opened the right side of the double door, to confirm her suspicions. Albus Dumbledore had a quill in his hand, working at a sheet of parchment.
"I can take your notes," McGonagall said, "Help you—"
"I'm not an imbecile," Dumbledore snapped, "I'm sorry, I meant I'm more than up to the task."
"Working yourself to death," McGonagall said, "You need to sleep."
"I do not have the luxury to squander time like a child," Dumbledore said, "In all likelihood, I'm in my final year."
"You've got plenty of years left," McGonagall said, "If only you weren't so reckless, you'd be here to welcome in those muggleborns born since Christmas, those who'd be first years in eleven years—though I spotted one that disintegrated in the locked box."
Minerva glanced at The Daily Prophet on the desk, the same one she'd read hours earlier.
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Advice to Harry Potter
Rita Skeeter & Delores Umbridge
We, members of the Harry Potter Guidance Committee, officially advise two things to Harry Potter. First, we strongly advise Harry Potter refrain from gold platting his legendary Firebolt, as it'd render the broom out of compliance of Quidditch league rules. Second, to welcome in the new year, we encourage Harry Potter to resolve to abandon his practice of Dark Arts immediately. We plan to immediately have Harry Potter sign this pledge once Albus Dumbledore stops interfering to prevent Harry Potter from embracing the warmth and caring the committee has to offer in guiding our beloved troubled young wizard through important steps, to become a life worthy of the wizarding world.
"Unfortunately, infants, even magical ones, will pass away before their time," Dumbledore said, "Regrettable, of course, but not unexpected."
"And you're going to join them unless you take proper care of yourself," McGonagall said.
"None of us have that luxury—of time," Dumbledore said, "Not even Ronald's attempt to cover up for Harry."
"Not even my letter has gotten through," McGonagall said, "Should we get more … aggressive?"
"A test of character…and unfortunately Ronald is unreliable," Dumbledore said, "Get a room in the castle ready, Mr. Potter's going to need a spot to serve out his suspensions."
"Of course," McGonagall said, "Think Mr. Potter's alright?"
"Ronald is right in one thing, it'd be published fast if Harry came to an unfortunate end," Dumbledore said, "Still, encourage Fred and George to keep trying."
McGonagall left the office.
The Seeker adjusted the holster on his wrist, the one that held not only his personal wand, but the eleven inch Holly wand with dragon heart string, not quite the phoenix feather that he'd heard Potter's wand had, but close enough to fool all but the most faithful. He waited for the Potion to take effect, he didn't understand the reasoning behind the Dark Lord's command three weeks earlier, but it wasn't his place, he'd keep attending bearing the appearance of Harry Potter. The Seeker heard a mellow cry from the basement, reminded him of the prisoner below, but the Seeker didn't have time and the Seeker disapparated.
The Seeker hurried for the fire in the middle of the graveyard.
"You're late," said Voldemort.
"Sorry My Lord," The Seeker said as he knelt, kissed the hem of the robes.
"Rise," Voldemort said.
The Seeker rose.
"It's a new year," Voldemort said, "By tradition, can anybody name my resolution?"
"Power and glory, eternally," the Keeper said.
"Can you deliver?" Voldemort asked.
"Yes, my Lord," the Keeper said, "Keep the Ministry playing the role of a stern but concerned parent trying to wrangle in a misbehaving child, the wizard population does the rest."
"I'm doing my part," the Seeker said.
"Your prisoner, don't hold onto him for long," the Keeper said, "Once winter term starts, the Ministry will be compelled to search. You don't want to be caught."
"I need Potter's habits in that town," the Seeker said.
"I've kept—observations," Wormtail said, "Only Weasley's been seen, mainly around the ruins of your last action."
"Find out," Voldemort instructed Wormtail.
"As you command," Wormtail said.
Ron woke Wednesday morning, on his left side on Gia's bed, his morning wood missing that familiar touch as Hedwig let out a hoot. Ron mostly dressed except his feet as he activated his Portkey, and felt the jerk behind the naval. Ron's feet landed on a cold hardwood floor.
"Excuse me?" Percy said as Ron realized where he'd landed.
Percy was on the sofa, hastily bunched towel over the groin, along with a stone on the coffee table, hinted at what Percy was up to.
"Mistake," Ron said as he stood there, arse against the large window, with Islington outside.
"Obliviate!" Percy snapped, wand drawn and raised.
However, Ron's wand already out, and Percy's wand sailed into Ron's hand before the charm was finished.
"Memory charms can cause psychosis, schizophrenia,," Ron said, "But the Ministry buried that study, didn't it?"
"How much magic are you doing in front of muggles?" Percy asked.
"I try for none," Ron said.
"Try harder," Percy said as he stood, wrapped the towel around his waist, "I've seen your name on the list, thought it was a mistake, but I can't keep auditing improper magic use out of existence."
"Pardon?" Ron asked.
Percy stepped toward Ron, left hand still held the towel up.
"Based on the reports," Percy seethed as he took his wand out of Ron's grip, "I can guess the town you're staying at. Whether or not Harry's there at the moment, is Harry normally there?"
"Um…" Ron muttered.
"Ministry isn't stupid," Percy said, "They think it's merely somebody who's weak on magic residing there, enough to occasionally trip the detectors, but not enough that they'd get a letter to Hogwarts. A wizard hiding there, trying to avoid magic, would also explain it."
"Harry's not hiding, he's been commuting all term long like you going to work, sleeping with his girlfriend and enjoying the weekends with her," Ron said, "Swear this to secrecy."
"If I can figure this out—" Percy started.
"Swear it!" Ron said, his eyes on his brother's, wand out.
"Fine, sworn," Percy said.
"Cause it's not like Dumbledore keeps it tight on security outside of Hogwarts," Ron said, "Otherwise, it'd be very easy to explain that most of the time, the assaults at Hogwarts occur before Harry even gets to school, that he's been at home banging her, while supposedly also beating somebody at school at the same fucking time!"
"He could have simply explained—" Percy said.
"And post Harry's address to Voldemort?" Ron said.
"Blimey!" Percy stammered.
"Voldemort ain't stopping until Harry's dead," Ron said, "And Harry's the only one who can defeat Voldemort, for real. Not Dumbledore, not the Ministry, nobody, except for Harry can do the job, and Harry would rather avoid that and hide with his girl. Do you understand the danger this frame–up is doing? It's stripping Harry of allies, fast—it's unsafe for me to walk in Diagon Alley, and I'm not Harry."
"I could schedule a press conference," Percy said, "Let Harry explain—"
"Dumbledore can also schedule one," Ron said, "I trust Dumbledore in this, that not revealing Harry's commute is best for Harry's safety. Even though it'd avert this Death Eater plan, another is likely in the works ready to take over. Dumbledore's top concern is Harry's safety—why'd you think he's been badgering me all holiday long?"
"Um…" Percy muttered.
"Percy, if Dumbledore knew what I knew, Dumbledore would agree with me, to leave Harry alone. But to tell Dumbledore everything would betray Harry, so I can't. So, I'll be off, unless you want me to raid your pantry."
Ron activated the Portkey in his left hand. Jerk behind the naval, it pulled him to the familiar bedroom. A fleeting thought about Hermione, a subtle wish for her, came to Ron before he grabbed his copy of Nisbet's Nutters: Psychiatric Intervention in the Wizarding World from his trunk. Ron realized he needed another one of Fred's bookcovers, to hide this from Hermione and Harry. Nonetheless, Ron laid on his stomach on Gia's bed, opened the book between his arms, turned to his bookmark, and kept reading.
Hours later, Ron was already sitting on the wooden chair in the dining room; Nisbet's Nutters: Psychiatric Intervention in the Wizarding World was open on the table, quill in hand as he dipped it into the inkjar and returned to his open journal. Ron copied the spell.
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Ventris autoodium, ventris autoodium.
Ron's wand was out, he chanted, "Ventris autoodium!"
Ron thought about Hermione, and felt queasy to the stomach.
"Ron," said Kristen as she entered, "We need to talk."
"Um…" Ron muttered, the queasiness firmed up on his stomach, before he muttered, "Finite Incantatem." His stomach eased up before his wand was back in its holster.
"Good somebody's doing their school work," Kristen said.
"Extra credit," Ron said, not wanting to divulge it wasn't assigned by anybody except himself, that it's helping to fulfill the oath he made to his mother's grave. A glance to Kristen's eyes was enough to know that's not the topic. "What's up?"
"It's just that your judgment's been—questionable," Kristen said, "And you're sleeping on the bed that ought to be Gia's."
"Like I've said, I don't know where they are," Ron said, "I know…" He realized he shouldn't mention Death Eaters, Snape, or similar. "I've heard rumors that suggest he's alright."
"From whom?" Kristen asked.
"Somebody," Ron said, "Given…things, Harry wants to hide and not be disturbed, he took her, and I trust him." Ron sensed the doubt behind her eyes. "I swear."
"You're not giving me much to work with," Kristen said.
"They're on a honeymoon!" Ron exclaimed, "Not wrecking that, not as a friend."
"How can I—" Kristen started.
Ron knew enough as he read her eyes, his knuckles to either side, each knuckle onto the table.
"I'm legally prohibited from disclosing what you're missing," Ron said, "If you did, you'd know Harry's doing alright, and Gia's with him."
Ron read those brown eyes as they cruised over him, she glanced at his red bangs, his own blue eyes, his stature as he stood there.
"You're playing high stakes," Kristen said, "You realize that, right?"
"Yes," Ron said, "I don't know for certain that I'm right, it's my faith in Harry."
"We'll find out, in time, the truth," Kristen said, "Be ready in case you're wrong."
"I'm right," Ron said, he already knew the gamble, he already owed a huge debt to Hermione.
Kristen left and Ron sat back down.
Ron stretched his arm, dipped the quill, and returned to his self–assigned essay. Ron was a tad glad that neither Harry nor Hermione were there, no need to hide this research.
Hermione walked as they came to the brick house by the church around noon on Thursday, entered. Hermione hung her pink jumper up on the coat rack, went further into the house.
"This way," said a nun, pointing.
They came to the wood paneled room, a long table to one side, a buffet.
"Hermione!" said Aunt Cheryl as she came over, gave a hug, and stepped back. "My, my, an interesting outfit, where'd you buy it?"
"Aunt Cindy found it for me," Hermione said, referring to the shopping trip days earlier, when she still thought JJ was a boyfriend.
"Looks good on you," Aunt Cheryl said, "Help yourself to lunch, calories don't pay attention to you."
Hermione was at the buffet, grabbed a couple peanut butter sandwiches, along with a salad. A glass of the bubbly cider, and Hermione wandered a bit, found a plush armchair by a bookshelf, a desk nearby, and sat on the leather. She ate into the sandwich, stared out the window, the road partially visible over the fence, the footpath that went behind the church went behind the fence to where it met up with the road.
Hermione nibbled a bit at her sandwich as she kept her watch. Two gingers walked along the footpath, near the road, she'd already missed their clothes. Hermione swore one head looked like Ron, however, the other, while vaguely familiar, likely was a brother, and thus she dismissed the notion that it was Ron.
"Something of interest?" came the deep, wizened, voice.
"Nothing," Hermione said, "Thought it was—well, don't know everybody in town, so easy for it to…nevermind."
Hermione turned her eyes, the black robes, the white tab on the collar, of Father Dowling.
"Oh, sorry," Hermione said, "Should be in—"
"You're doing fine, child," Father Dowling said as he brought another chair over, "Something is on your mind, right?"
"It's nothing important," Hermione said, aware his eyes were on hers, "It's…complicated."
"Complicated nothing?" Father Dowling said, "Fascinating."
"Thought it was a boy I thought was my friend," Hermione said, before her mouth blurted faster than she could stop, "Why do I suck at boyfriends?!"
Hermione wasn't certain if her blushing showed, but a bit of a smirk came to the father's face.
"Must think this is petty at a time like this," Hermione said, her face turned back to window, her hand rested on her thigh.
"I just got back from the hospital," Father Dowling said, "Spent five hours consoling a pair of newlyweds, not much older than yourself, they woke up to a lifeless infant, their newborn son was already dead before they left for hospital, but naturally, they still brought him in hoping for a miracle."
"It's petty to worry about boyfriends," Hermione said.
"Quite the contrary," Father Dowling said, "Third one this week, sad, really, so worrying about your boyfriends is a welcome relief."
Hermione snorted.
"Who's the one you thought you saw?" Father Dowling asked.
"Ron," Hermione said as she turned back toward the father. She put both hands on the seat cushion, her legs partially spread. "We met years ago, on the first train to our boarding school, along with his new friend. We sparred then, he didn't appreciate my love of books—my folks."
"Dentists," Father Dowling said, "You hope the one working on your teeth is well studied."
"True," Hermione said, "Ron called it a nightmare, but I guess he had turned a leaf when both him and Harry rescued me from—a real nightmare, but we became good friends in our first year. I hung out with Harry and Ron more than the other girls in my year after that."
"Still go to St. Mary's?" Father Dowling asked.
"Yep," Hermione said.
"You saw something good in Ron?" Father Dowling asked.
"Yep," Hermione said, "He stood up for me when Malfoy called me—it was bad." Hermione figured she still needed to cover up the magic. "Should've seen it, though, afterwards, Ron's strategy backfired." She still remembered the slugs pouring out of Ron's mouth, she grinned; Ron had suffered, but it still made her feel better.
"Defending friends is a good trait in a boyfriend," Father Dowling asked, "Wouldn't you agree?"
Hermione glance back out at the frosted garden.
"Yep," Hermione said, "He hasn't stopped, he demonstrated he's willing to sacrifice himself for his friends, with courage when you don't even know you'll make it."
"Not a bad trait," Father Dowling said.
Hermione remembered Ron standing up on a busted leg, insisting Sirius kill all three or none of them in the Shrieking Shack.
"No, its not," Hermione said, "But he also doesn't bother studying, always seemingly needing to compare notes—I know he's copying. Acts impulsively, selfishly, even if it puts his friend's life in danger."
"Oh," Father Dowling said.
Those eyes on her, more effective than Veritaserum, not as piercing as Dumbledore's nor as Ron's eyes had become, but still, it disarmed her defenses.
"Harry's blood alcohol was lethally high the morning AFTER a night of heavy drinking," Hermione said, "We're lucky Harry didn't die from Ron's reckless action! I know Harry wouldn't turn it down, but it was Ron's bloody idea to deliberately get Harry drunk in the first place. Harry was so inebriated, that when he got attacked at school, he didn't struggle."
"Sorry you lost that friend," Father Dowling said.
"Harry survived—barely," Hermione said, "But all that blood—not sure it sunk into Ron's thick skull how close Harry was to dying. If we hadn't found Harry when we did, Harry'd be gone."
Harry slumped in that pool of blood, Harry's precious blood, its a sight that hasn't vanished from her mind.
"I was furious, but Ron didn't understand, how could a buffoon comprehend that!" Hermione snapped.
Hermione stood and moved to lean forward against the back of the leather chair.
"It's the most egregious and recent example," Hermione said, "I know Ron's not always one for the best decisions, but that one was particularly bad—he doesn't even understand it. Even after we were suspended, he kept making excuses for endangering his best friend. How can I trust him?"
"What do you think?" the Father asked.
"So, JJ—the other boyfriend," Hermione said as she spun the chair around, "He was definitely charming, bit immature, but not unredeemingly so. Getting a job to earn a little pocket money seemed overkill, I'd understand if a fifteen year old can't buy everything, you're not asking them to. Instead, he was dating another girl, trying to figure out who he could get to bang first; we busted him on the dishonesty."
"Aw," the Father said.
Hermione focused her eyes back out of the window, to where the red hair had been.
"Pretend you could to talk to your folks," the Father said, "What would they say?"
"JJ was a flirt," Hermione said as she sat back down on the chair, "I've known Ron over five years, can't learn another boy as well as I have him. I do…" Hermione stopped, uncertain, except that as the service was nearing, his hug would do her a world of good. "I'm not sure."
"Still love him?" the Father asked.
"Thought he loved me," Hermione replied.
"You're ducking the question," the Father said.
Hermione stood, crossed her arms, and faced out the window.
"I still don't know," Hermione said.
"You've got the luxury of beauty and youth," the Father said as he stood next to her. "Whether you can forgive their transgressions is up to you. So, listen to your heart, that's rarely wrong."
"Ta," Hermione said.
The Father left. Hermione stared out the window, hoping for that red haired couple to return, enough to know whether it was Ron or not; she'd have to make her choice, and she hoped she'd make the right one.
"Aunt Cheryl was asking about you," Mark shouted, "Should go and be part of the family."
Hermione paused, knew that Ron was both a man and a boy, duking it out in his head.
"She gave me a fiver," Mark said.
Hermione went for the dining room, with the ornate wood carved to the walls.