In the Crosshairs
Dragon Voldemort
Chapter 101: Monday II
Percy's stomach growled as he walked past an effigy of Ron, and left the headquarters of the Gobstone Club.
"Audits to hell!" came the shout.
Percy smirked, secured the rolls of parchment into his brown pinstripe suit, one that now contrasted to those in canary yellow. He went into the lift, the one with the petition affixed to the wall.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Nifflers ARE Good Emotional Support Animals
We at the Society of Niffler Advancement Protection, recognize the joy that comes from having a Niffler around the house. Therefore, we petition to have Nifflers recognized as legitimate emotional support animals for wizards or witches in need.
"Level eleven," Percy announced.
Carriage ascended.
"Level six, Department of Magical Transportation," the female voice said, "Apparation Test Center, Broom Regulatory Control—"
"I said ELEVEN!" Percy snapped.
Carriage descended.
Percy wondered who'd been jinxing the lifts this time.
"Level eleven, Department of Audit and Legal Services," the female voice said, "Harry Potter Guidance Committee—"
Percy stepped out, the familiar unauthorized poster, Eleven Ways to Silence Potter. Through the maze of cubicles, he went into the break room, to the refrigerator, the note on it.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Dear Lunch Thief,
Cut it out, that was a prescription lunch! Enjoy the Cornish Pixie bait.
Percy opened the refrigerator, went for the My Little Dragon lunch sack, and grabbed it. He went back into the corridors, when a witch in bright colors, the canary yellow jumper over the bright orange of her robes, stepped into his way.
"Sure I can't interest you in some thin mints?" she said, "My daughter—"
"I'm fine," Percy stated, "No thank you."
Percy moved around her, continued to his cubicle. He pulled out the mini burner, set it on his filing cabinet. He opened his sack, within mostly hollow, except for the note within.
"Damn…" Percy grumbled.
He pulled out the note.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Percy Weasley
You must've learned from your mother, that was delicious. Stick to cooking if you don't want to follow in her footsteps.
p.s. Please make more.
Percy thought about his options, went back into the aisle, and started looking for that witch offering the thin mints.
Harry felt the trip into the Great Hall, though cut short, wasn't the worst adventure. He felt the push from Auror Gairloch as he stepped onto the ascending stairs beyond the Stone Gargoyle. The Auror opened the doors, Harry went into the Headmaster's Office, followed by Ron and Hermione.
A glance around, Fawkes at the perch, the pedestal, the bird that seemingly tried to give purpose to Harry's life. Maybe it was the feathers in Harry's wand, the broom, that made that fit. Professor Dumbledore on a chair by the fireplace, a plate in front of him on the table, chicken between his trembling fingers. Blue eyes twinkled as the Headmaster noticed the four of them.
"Mr. Gairloch," Professor Dumbledore said, "How kind to round up a bit of company for lunch. Please join me, the chicken…it's a new seasoning, something from the States. It's delicious."
Harry didn't need Legilimency to know the ire in that Auror.
"We tried for lunch in the Great Hall," Harry said.
"Performing Dark Art wizardry," Gairloch stated, "Controlling their peers to justify murder!"
The Headmaster sighed, wiped his fingers on the cloth napkin, wiped his lips with it. Harry spotted the twinkling, the inquiry.
"What were the results of your investigation?" Professor Dumbledore asked.
"Got a report of fighting," Auror Gairloch said, "Got there to see these three with their wands raised, puppeting their classmates in order to slaughter them. If it weren't for me, many would be dead."
"Please, I'm interested," Professor Dumbledore said, "If you need parchment or a quill for your official report, I'm sure Minerva could oblige. Every detail, leave nothing out, so I can assess your side."
"Letting them off the hook?" Auror Gairloch huffed.
"No," the Headmaster said, "I need it in writing so I can enter it in the official record. Please use an empty classroom to avoid my influence—Hogwarts always has a spare."
"Unbelievable!" Auror Gairloch stormed out of the office.
"Good riddance," Professor Dumbledore said.
"Sorry," Ron said, "I did get a bit hot tempered, spouted off a bit."
Ron's stomach growled.
"House Elfs always insist on bringing me too much," Professor Dumbledore said, "Have a seat."
Ron sat, and Harry watched the fingers that stained as Ron worked on the chicken wings. Hermione sat and worked the celery sticks with some peanut butter. Harry watched the beetle on Ron's shoulder.
"Ron was hungry and wanted lunch," Harry said as he stood there as he explained the incident, the insults, the assault by Finnigan.
"Muggle training?" asked the Headmaster.
"Yep," Harry said, and he continued, ending with Auror Gairloch showing up and assuming. "We came here—habit."
"Bit astounded you'd even dare such an act," Professor Dumbledore said, "You know the sentiment."
"Disappointed?" Harry asked.
"Courageous to even attempt that," Professor Dumbledore said, "But I do not look favorably on instigating fights with your peers."
"We have the right to a lunch," Harry stated.
"Bit surprised you chose that location," the Headmaster said.
"Used it fine for years," Harry snapped.
"Thought you had an arrangement with the kitchens for private dining," Professor Dumbledore said.
"Without Dobby here," Harry said, "Like they'd show to us? We cannot be certain to the fitness of unattended food, perfect chance to collect."
"You're as paranoid as Moody," Ron said, sandwich went in between his teeth and he munched again.
"Have good reason to be," Harry snapped.
"Care to explain?" Ron asked.
"Too many ears," Harry replied.
"My office is secure," said the Headmaster.
"Of intruders," Harry said, "Not snoops."
"I'm offended!" snapped a gentlemen in one painting.
Ring!
"That was a fine lunch," Professor Dumbledore said.
"Thank you," Harry said.
Ron and Hermione stood, followed Harry out of the Headmaster's office. The stairs stopped, and Harry turned around.
"Think somebody has an article to write?" Harry asked the beetle on Ron's shoulder.
It scurried off, onto the wall. The stairs moved again, and they walked along the second floor corridor. Harry's wand out, aimed, tripwires went, fires that spouted out. A couple of swords swung at shoulder height.
…
Ron followed Harry down the marble stairs; Hermione next to Ron. A right down the ground floor corridor. A burnt tripwire, they were stopped before Wood's office. Wood stood there, his glaring with his arms crossed over his blue cardigan.
"You're late," Wood snapped.
Ron unsure to the confusion.
"Our schedule said after noon," Ron said, "First lesson—"
"Should've clarified it with McGonagall," Wood said, "I wanted lunch with you."
"Oh," Ron said, "Would've saved us a hassle or two."
"Been fighting?" Wood stepped toward Harry, the eyes that studied the hand marks .
"Misunderstanding in the Great Hall," Harry said, "We'll live."
"Hope you've got room left for tea," Wood said, "You inadvertently kept some people waiting, but I think they'll forgive the miscommunication. Come."
Wood opened the door to his office. Inside, the desk pushed aside, a small round table in its place. In chairs around it, four. Three wore white T–shirts beneath their jackets of white and blue; Coach Darrell Meyers of Puddlemere United, his assistants Adam Gerber and Leroy Kline. To the side opposite Wood was Devlin Whitehorn. In the corner, a man wrote the same jacket as the other three, white T–shirt and blue shorts, a man who watched and kept his hand in the pocket…took Ron a moment to remember it was the team Healer, Benjamin Notley, the one who surveyed Harry's thin frame, the concern behind it.
"Have a seat," Wood whispered.
Ron went a bit slow for the chairs, crept as Harry did, the focus on the coaches. Hermione took one rapidly, right of Ron. Wood sat to the other side of Harry on Ron's left.
"Maybe you remember them," Wood said, "Coach Meyers and his assistants."
Harry nodded. Wood pointed.
"Devlin Whitehorn," Harry stated.
"You've met?" Wood said, "Owner of the Nimbus Broom Company, and in turn, owns this team."
"One of the team owners," Devlin Whitehorn said, "There is another, a silent one."
Ron unsure to that glance, the stare at Harry.
"W–Why?" Harry stammered.
"Professor McGonagall suggested you'd rather enjoy an afternoon in Potions with Snape," Wood said.
"Not needed," Hermione said.
"I hear about that greasy git," Gerber said.
Ron sipped tea, helped himself to biscuits, however, kept his watch on the coaches, like Harry did.
"You've gained a lot of press since the fall," Coach Meyers said, "We know how reporters blow things out of proportions, even if nothing occurred."
Harry stood and he stood there, arms crossed.
"We've been punished, harassed," Harry said, "That's true."
Ron unsure if he spotted the wand tip beneath the hem of Notley's shorts, the charms behind those eyes, ones that were assessing Harry.
"Don't think you're going dark," Gerber said, "Filth onto teenagers when nobody's willing to take responsibility for their own actions."
"That's nice," Harry said, "What's the point?"
"You're in a rush for potions?" Wood asked.
Ron watched Harry turn, the stare to Madam Hooch's portrait, and the return. A glance to Notley turning the wand.
"Sorry, nerves," Harry said, "Swords from maniacs trying to behead me on the walk HERE ain't helping, only a sign of the atrocity we're flying right into. So when all I hear is pity—"
"Slow down Harry, we've got all afternoon unless you're eager for Potions," Wood said, "I organized this meeting so they can help … you."
Ron caught Coach Meyer's glances, the curiosity, but also the pressure he's been given, going against doubts, against wisdom.
"Bluntness is a good trait," Coach Meyers said, "Our Seeker and Reserve Keeper will be—encouraged to pursue other endeavors, leaving two vacancies for the next season in the fall."
Ron understood, two being forced off to make room.
"As the Reserve Seeker will be promoted," Coach Meyers said, "We offer you two the vacant positions."
Ron stared for a moment, unsure if he heard right. Hermione's eyes on him, the grin to her face.
"Dunno what to say," Harry said, "School, Voldemort…"
Harry leaned against the table. His eyes down on the tea pot. Ron ignored the Healer, focused on the coaches.
"Think we can work around most worries," Kline said, "You'd start easy, one practice a week with specialized coaching."
"That'll help on the pitch here," Wood said.
"Come summer," Kline continued, "It's a two week camp, normal practice after that. Your first game would be in the fall."
"If I can work it being a teacher," Wood said, "You can work it being a student."
"Better reason to miss class than being suspended," Hermione said.
"Dumbledore's likely already has summer plans for us," Harry said, "With Voldemort on the rise?"
"What if you get him before then?" Ron asked.
A glance from Harry to Ron.
"Your arse's too comfortable in that seat," Harry thought.
"It'll be over in June," Ron retorted, "Always is."
"And something new next year," Harry replied.
"We can work around complications," Coach Meyers said, "Even Dumbledore's."
Ron understood, this Dumbledore's idea in the first place, so of course that'll work out.
"Camp's different," Coach Kline said, "After that, we do have training requirements, but they're mostly flexible. See this person here teaching full time?"
Wood blushed, grinned. A bit of silence. Ron's eyes glanced at the painting on the wall, Quidditch final of their third year, Harry flying on his Firebolt.
"This'd get us kicked off our house team?" Ron asked.
"Want to?" Wood said, "Protests might have merit in the fall. Even so, we're talking way more matches, way more training, you'd have more opportunities to play."
Ron sat there, stared at Coach Meyers, waiting the next word. Hermione snickered.
"Hermione?" Wood asked.
"Should I conjure up a timer and see how long it'll take them to accept it?" Hermione asked.
"It's a gift horse," Harry said, "Worried about catches."
"I'm interested," Ron said.
Coach Gerber handed over a couple sheets of parchment, one to Harry, the other to Ron.
"Contracts with a standard starting term of two years," Coach Gerber said, "Given past…complications, you must take at least four days to consider it, we'll give you two weeks if you must. I strongly suggest you read the contract, consult the rulebook for clarifications, and we can negotiate reasonable alternatives to any objectionable term."
Harry took the parchment, scanned it, though Ron didn't.
"Camp?" Harry asked, "What is that?"
"A wonderful time," Wood said, "You eat, breathe, and play Quidditch; it hones up your skills in all the positions."
"Come on Harry," Ron said, "I'm in on this, you?"
"Yes," Harry said, "I'm interested."
Hermione snorted.
"Know the other owner will be pleased," said Devlin Whitehorn.
"Boys," Coach Meyers said, "Keep this confidential, because you both understand the security problems that will result. It's already going to be a week until we can get the stadium up to snuff. So nothing leaks until camp, understood?"
Harry nodded. Ron nodded.
"Hopefully this'll ease the rest of the league," Coach Meyers said, "Good game play helps with favorable impressions, both of you need that especially right now."
Wood glanced over Harry's shoulder at the parchment.
"A bit less per game than the fall, because that was an emergency," Coach Gerber said, "Now, you'll play many matches per season, so your compensation is more than adequate given your general lack of league experience."
"More than mine," Wood said.
"We like to be fair," Coach Meyers said, "Inability to moonlight, and we secure the exceptionally fine talent Potter has. Weasley's talented, benefits from being in Potter's shadow."
"Hey!" Ron protested.
Coach Meyers steadied his eyes on Ron.
"You might not like it," Coach Meyers said, "Your reputation is linked with Potter, it's well known. Think what any other team would say if you tried to apply?"
A move from Wood, a reach for the tea.
"Any other players that moonlight as Aurors?" Wood asked the coaches, "You've given them this golden opportunity, and they're worried about fighting You–Know–Who. What does that say about their character?"
"Arrange for a meeting this time on Friday," Coach Kline said.
"Another location for when we're suspended," Harry said.
"Trust you won't be the real cause for that," Coach Meyers said, "Despicable to castrate without verifying anything."
Ron caught the glance at Harry.
"We'll see how it affects your game play," Coach Meters said.
"Shouldn't," said Notley.
"Thank you gentlemen," Coach Meyers said, hand extended. Harry shook, Ron shook. "See you Friday."
Coach Meyers led the way, Kline, Gerber, and Notley followed.
"That was the boring part," Wood said, "Now, got a new lesson for you."
Wood opened the door. Harry went first, wand in hand. Wood and Whitehorn next. Ron and Hermione followed.
Harry's hand up stopped Whitehorn. Harry glanced, pointed out the tripwire.
"Ought to report—" Whitehorn started.
"Means paperwork," Harry said, "I'd get blamed—there's a dozen more waiting if we go to report the first one."
"That one on the left," Wood said.
A turn into the classroom with a vaulted ceiling. Neville and Parvati were already there. On one table, a bundle of twigs, sticks, and branches.
"As some of you know," Wood said, "There are situations where you've had to fly, like a match last month where you suddenly needed a new broom. However, I know about nothing, so I got a special instructor. Devlin Whitehorn."
"You can make anything fly," Devlin Whitehorn said, "So, while we'll work on making a broom today, you should be able to put a boulder into flight."
Ron went to the table, began to work.
"If you'll excuse me," Wood said, "I'm buried in grading."
Wood left the classroom.
"Kinda cool," Neville said to Ron.
Ron nodded, noticed Harry doing the same, lining up the twigs, and the core.
Albus Dumbledore glanced at the list he'd overlooked, the familiar loopy green handwriting, scanned through it. His door opened, two entered, both in blue and white jackets, white shirts, blue shorts.
"How did it go?" asked the Headmaster.
"We gave you four days to reconsider," said Coach Meyers.
"I see your concerns," said Notley to Dumbledore, "Think we can help."
"Of course you'd endorse it," Coach Meyers said, "Potter needs help, don't get me wrong."
"It's up to us to give it," Notley said, "As you pointed out—who else?"
"An owner, even a silent one, has the right to set the roster," Dumbledore said.
"I understand," Coach Meyers said, "To even float his name into the League is asking for trouble."
"Maybe Mr. Potter will sort out the troubles before then," Dumbledore said, "We'll re–evaluate when it comes to the camp."
"Thank you," Notley said, "I can do more for them if they sign."
"As to the other concern?" Dumbledore asked.
"I kept it discreet," Notley said, "No threat, no concern to poisoned implants."
"We obtained a confession from the perpetrator," Dumbledore said.
"No discernible effect," Notley said, "Weasley appears fit for play. Potter, as discussed."
"Thank you," Dumbledore said.
A nod, the Coach and Healer left the office. Professor Sinistra entered.
Harry took his wand to the final twig, it turned scarlet like the rest of his bunch.
"Potions work the best," Devlin Whitehorn said, "Charms work in a pinch."
Harry cinched the metal band over the twigs, fastened it to the long brown stick, the core of the handle. Harry put his hand over it.
"UP!" Harry commanded.
It hovered, his creation, it hovered.
"I've crafted the art over a lifetime," Devlin Whitehorn said, "So don't fret about its performance."
Harry turned, watched Ron work the metal band.
"Up!" Ron commanded, less enthusiastic, it went up a foot before it dropped.
Hermione groaned.
"She didn't do the essay," Ron said to Harry.
"What essay?" Hermione snapped.
"They always fight like this?" Devlin Whitehorn asked Harry.
"Pretty much," Harry replied.
"Here," Ron said, helped Hermione with the twigs.
"Well," Devlin Whitehorn said to Harry, "Try it out."
Harry grabbed this homemade broom, threw his leg over it. Harry concentrated, the broom flew, bit slow, but it flew. Harry went up, touched the vaulted ceiling, and came back down.
"Better than a Shooting Star." Harry rubbed at the crotch of his trousers.
"Consider a Cushioning Charm," Whitehorn said, "Developed for that reason."
Harry turned to Neville.
"It's okay," Neville said, the brown before him.
"Mine's…gotta agree with Hermione," Parvati said.
"It's craft," Neville said to her, "Takes practice, and broken arms."
Harry snorted, remembered it, their first year flying lesson.
"There," Ron said.
Harry turned, watched as Ron hovered his up. Ron's leg over, mounted, and rode it. Ron wavered a bit, settled in, drifted upward. Ron touched the ceiling, returned.
"Shooting Star or a butterfly," Ron said.
Harry spotted the annoyance in Hermione's eyes, the glare, though she kept working. Harry went to the table, where Ron held the twigs down as Hermione struggled with the metal strap.
"You're taking Parvati's apology?" Ron asked.
"We don't exactly have a choice," Harry said, "We need allies, even if they participated."
"Of all—" Hermione started.
"We've got enough enemies," Harry said, "Somebody turns, especially if they beg forgiveness as they apologize, take it."
"Some of them raped me!" Hermione snapped.
"Then have them work with Neville or somebody else," Harry said, "We're in a very tight corner; we're out of options if we're choosy to our volunteers."
Hermione held the broom in her hand, and she let go, the broom dropped back to the table.
"UP!" Hermione commanded.
Her hands trembled, the broom turned over, before it floated. Color drained from her face as she mounted.
"We've got you," Harry promised as she started to move.
Hermione gripped tightly, her balance awkward as she began to levitate between Harry and Ron.
"Bet you're looking up my arse," Hermione muttered, the broom in front of Ron's clavicle.
"Too low for that," Ron said.
"Want us to?" Harry asked.
"It'd be a work of art," Ron said.
Hermione groaned.
"Go higher so we can," Harry suggested.
Hermione pulled up, wobbled. Her broom rose with her for a moment, however she lost the grip and tumbled. Ron caught her. Her broom zipped up, hit the ceiling, and crashed back down. Hermione stood back up.
"Not a born flier," Devlin Whitehorn said.
"She'll figure it out," Ron said.
"Can too," Hermione said to Ron.
Ron kissed her on the lips.
"Um…" Harry said, "Try outside?"
A glare from Hermione, the joy in Ron's eyes, the amusement in Neville's, and the curiosity in Parvati's.
"That'd be nice," Devlin Whitehorn said.
Harry led the way, carried the broom. Knew the eyes on him, so he walked instead of the faster way. Into the corridor, Parvati and Neville first behind him. Harry aimed his wand.
"ADSUM!" Harry bellowed.
Flames, wires that broke. His feet to the stone, worked along the corridor, into the Entrance Hall. Water seeped from marble stairs to the front steps. Harry flicked his wand, more smoke, and went down those front steps, out the door.
"He's getting good," Neville said to Parvati.
"That's normal?" asked Devlin Whitehorn.
"For us, it is," Ron said, "Every corridor, every staircase, has at least one. It's like the traps breed."
Light wind greeted Harry as he left the castle, the clouds above. Harry jumped, his rear sideways to the boom handle, and he hovered down the path.
"Nice that it works," Devlin Whitehorn said.
They reached the Quidditch Pitch, and Harry jumped off the broom. He spun, applied the Cushioning Charm, and mounted it as normal. An small gap between the broom handle and his crotch; Harry appreciated the change.
"May just watch as a witness," Neville said.
Harry flew upward, above the top of the top box, above the stadium, and flew along, intending to make a lap of the stadium. Harry pulled at the other end of the oval, the shuttering in his grip.
"Come on," Harry said to the makeshift broom.
As he neared the end of the first lap, back to the triple goal posts, metal band snapped, the handle shattered, and twigs scattered to the wind every which way.
"Fuck!" Harry snapped as he began to fall.
A flick of his hand, summoned his real broom, the holly wood, he grabbed it, mounted it, and landed. Harry walked over, picked up the broken makeshift handle.
"Adding charms to a broom increase the stresses," Devlin Whitehorn said, "We used second hand scraps, so the materials aren't the finest. The right wood carved into the right shapes treated by the right potions can soak up a lot of charms, toughen them up for anything the flyer may send their way, and can last centuries with proper polishing."
"See if I can make it all the way," Ron said as he swung his leg over his makeshift broom.
Harry watched as Ron put down his weight, about crushing the crotch.
"Screw it," Ron said, wand out, "Rather risk shattering."
Ron mounted it again, flew upward, began the lap. Harry mounted his holly broom, slowly chased Ron, to the other end. Ron's makeshift broom shattered into nothing but a cloud of twigs. Harry dove beneath as Ron plunged; the legs that straddled, ready, and Harry felt the push behind him, the hands to his shoulders.
"Thank you for that," Ron said.
"Let's watch Hermione try," Harry said.
"Yeah," Ron replied.
Harry pulled, they went back to the end with Hermione, Neville, and Parvati.
"Glad you've gotten the knack for that broom," Devlin Whitehorn said, "May I?"
Harry handed it over to the man.
"Still fine balance," Devlin Whitehorn said as he examined it, "New brooms can develop issues, well any can, but new brooms are more prone to failures."
"Flies fast, makes Ron's the butterfly," Harry said.
"Firebolt II is a fast broom," Devlin Whitehorn said, "The prototype even more so."
"And that's faster," Harry said, "Well, for me. Has one quirk…think I'll keep it as is."
Harry took the broom back.
"Hermione," Ron said, "Lets see you try."
Hermione glared, put her broom down on the ground.
"UP!" Hermione commanded.
Hermione's makeshift broom hovered for a moment, before it flew away down the pitch. Her wand out.
"ACCIO!" Hermione shouted, wand aimed.
That broom shattered.
"Interesting," Neville said, "Think we'll sit this out."
Parvati smiled, both left.
"I need…well, meetings never end as a business owner," Devlin Whitehorn said, "If you'll excuse me."
Devlin Whitehorn turned, went up to the castle.
"What's the quirk?" Hermione asked Harry, "Aside from flying it all the time?"
Harry banished his broom.
"Not here," Harry said, "Um…lets go to my place."
"Where's that?" Ron asked.
"Lets get our bags first," Harry said, "And…anything you want from your place?"
"Crookshanks," Ron said.
Hermione smiled.
"Disillusion," Harry said, wand out. A flick on himself.
Ron and Hermione did the same. Harry grabbed their shoulders, thought it, and disapparated, they apparated into the classroom, otherwise empty. Harry's disillusion fell as he picked up his book–bag.
"Alright," Harry said to Ron, "You're up."
Ron took out the Portkey, held it in front as he activated it. Harry and Hermione held on, the jerk behind the naval, pulled away from Hogwarts.
"Funny feeling," Ron said, "A full day."
"Yeah," Harry replied.
"Doesn't mean we're in the clear," Hermione said.
"One day at a time," Ron said.
They landed in the middle guest bedroom. Harry studied the mirrors on the wall as Hermione went out.
"CROOKSHANKS!" Hermione hollered. "CROOKSHANKS!"
"You got a place?" Ron asked.
"Yeah," Harry said, "Guess Dumbledore had that card up his sleeve, part of my parents' estate."
"So you had it the whole time?" Ron asked.
"Like Dumbledore tells us everything," Harry said.
"He's not here," Hermione said as she returned to the bedroom.
"Somebody let him out?" Ron asked.
"Hope not," Hermione said.
"We'll come back," Ron said, "So, my Portkey won't work, yours?"
"Gia's got it," Harry said.
"What?" Ron asked, "How'd you get to school?"
"Apparated," Harry said.
Harry caught Hermione's glare.
"It worked," Harry said, before he distracted, "Here."
Harry grabbed their hands, thought, and disapparated. Through that now familiar tight tube, they apparated into the green living room, a small fire in the fireplace. Hedwig on a perch attached to a shelf in front of the dining area window.
Hoot!
"Behold," Harry said, "66 Pickering Place."
"Don't remember that," Hermione said.
"Bit out of town," Harry said, "Not too far, close enough that Gia can still attend school."
"Not particularly big," Ron said.
"Doesn't have to be," Harry said, "Lavatory and bedrooms upstairs. Double left to share with me and Gia, keep the second as a spare."
"Dobby happy to help Harry Potter!" said the House–Elf as he appeared.
"And this is why I knew Dobby didn't serve you at Hogwarts," Harry said, "Dumbledore—"
"Great Headmaster suggested that Dobby could help Harry Potter," Dobby said.
Harry caught Hermione shaking her head.
"Winky's here too," Harry said.
"Winky is good House Elf!" said Winky as she showed.
"You've both invited me into your homes without question," Harry said to Ron and Hermione, "Now that I've got a house, it's my turn, without question, you're welcome to stay here. And yes, two house elfs who deserve to be paid."
"Pay?" Winky said, "Winky's being a bad House–Elf?"
Winky and Dobby vanished. Harry shrugged, hands up.
"You want to reason with them?" Harry asked Hermione. "Through the kitchen, first door on the right."
Hermione went around the corner.
"How big—?" Ron asked.
"Cozy is what Dumbledore called it," Harry said.
Hermione returned.
"You—you gave them the cupboard?" Hermione asked.
"I offered them the other bedroom," Harry said, "They got offended and took that instead."
"Remember you're talking to the founder of SPEW," Ron said, "One step removed from SPUG."
"If you want them to be free," Harry said, "You got to get them to want it."
A glare.
"Wait until I give Winky maternity," Harry said.
"She's pregnant?" Hermione asked.
"Dunno, haven't asked," Harry said, "Spend all their time together. I'd be disappointed if we don't have little House Elfs soon."
Hermione went to the fireplace.
"It'll remain disconnected," Harry said, "Don't want uninvited guests."
Harry went into the kitchen, filled up the tea kettle. The charm, it whistled.
"Want some?" Harry asked.
"Sure," Hermione said.
Harry poured out into three cups, on the tray, tore open and added the leaves from the tea bags, and carried the tray over to the small coffee table between the arm chair and sofa. Harry sat on the armchair. Ron and Hermione sat to the other side.
"Beer's next on the shopping list," Harry said, "The last house."
Harry proceeded to explain the attack, the ones he'd killed.
"Percy mentioned he'd heard it," Ron said.
"Strange they're not reporting on it…that'd be perfect against me," Harry said, "An actual killing."
Harry glanced at Hermione mulling it over.
"At least you killed Macnair," Hermione said, "No sympathies."
Ron shook his head.
"Wish it wasn't me," Harry said.
"What curse did you use?" Ron asked.
"Dunno," Harry said, "I wanted him gone."
"Certainly did that," Hermione said.
"A vicious killing curse isn't how I want to be known," Harry said.
Another moment of awkward silence. Harry sipped at his tea. Ron ate a biscuit. Blue eyes focused back to Harry's.
"So You–Know–Who used a friendly killing curse on you?" Ron asked.
"Ta," Harry snapped.
Harry explained taking Kristen and the others to Lupin's.
"Well," Hermione said, "She knows about magic."
"And it killed her husband," Harry said, "Not exactly a great introduction."
A pop, Gia appeared, entered the living room, and handed Harry the Portkey.
"You failed to show up," Gia said.
"No suspension," Harry said, "Can you believe that?"
"That part's true," Hermione said, "We lasted the whole day."
"Can you fashion her ring into a Portkey?" Ron asked.
Harry glanced at the golden ring, his wand out.
"There's no place like home," Harry said as he charmed it.
Hermione glanced at Harry.
"Not like she's got a wand," Ron said.
"Give it a try tomorrow," Harry said, "If not, use mine."
Gia leaned over, kissed him. Gia moved, sat on the sofa, squeezed Ron against Hermione.
"So Dumbledore offered you a house and you took it?" Ron asked.
"Yeah," Harry said, "Where else do I stay?"
"Your brothers are getting searched," Hermione said.
"Not Percy," Ron said.
"You mean, not yet," Harry said, "It'll be figured out."
"What about this place?" Gia said.
"Nobody use the doors if you can help it," Harry said, "Portkeys, apparations. If you must walk, go to the old house, apparate from there."
Harry felt good, this was his house, with his friends. He damn well wanted to keep it. Harry picked up his cup, glanced at the tea leaves on the bottom.
"I can see the future," Hermione said, "You're going to bang Gia."
Harry snorted.
"I like this," Gia said, "First, try some yoga safely, upstairs, on the bed?"
Harry stood, went upstairs.
…
After Ron watched Harry and Gia go up the stairs, he glanced around.
"Joys of being rich," Ron snapped.
"He opened his doors to you," Hermione said.
Ron stood, went to the front window, the blinds closed, little light.
"Old place destroyed?" Ron said as he turned around, "Poof, new property."
"It's not a mansion," Hermione said.
"I don't trust Dumbledore on this," Ron said, "Property—Quidditch?"
Ron pulled out his Portkey.
"You're—?" Hermione asked.
"Asking him," Ron said.
"I'll—" Hermione started.
"No," Ron said, "I'll be careful."
Ron activated it, the jerk behind the naval, he landed in the dormitory. A fast swish of his wand, the disillusionment as he put the Portkey away. Ron went out the door, down the stairs.
"They're out of the castle," Dean Thomas said, stood in his canary yellow T–shirt.
"I know," Finnigan said at the bottom.
Ron recognized it, the stringing out of more tripwire. He jumped.
"What's that?" asked Ernie Macmillan, also in the casual canary yellow outfit, the hand a bit behind Ron.
"You're getting jumpy," Finnigan said.
Others in the Gryffindor Common Room, Ron went out through the portrait hole. Along the corridors, danced around the flames that poured, Ron stepped onto the ascending stairs behind the Stone Gargoyle. He entered the Headmaster's office.
"Good afternoon Mr. Weasley," Professor Dumbledore said, "Yes, I know who it is, though I award five points for the successful demonstration of the Disillusionment Charm."
Ron dropped it, stood there in the office.
"It seemed suspicious," Ron stated, "Silver platters? Even one means there's a catch, and it'll be better to snatch the plate."
"Alas," the Headmaster said, "Seeing through my cunning plans? Please, a better footing."
Professor Dumbledore stood, went over to the chairs. Ron sat forward on the chair across from the Headmaster.
"Shame about that spectacle," Professor Dumbledore said, "Glad you are coping and taking it in stride. I saw no other option that had a remotely happy outcome."
"You are not a Seer," Ron said.
"No, no I am not," the Headmaster said, "Neither are you."
Ron shook his head.
"I muddle along best I can," the Headmaster said, "I consider every option and the possible outcomes, and I do make mistakes. I am still ever apologetic it had to come to that, but I'm also ecstatic that you and Hermione are not letting a little handicap get in your way."
"It's had…consequences," Ron said.
A wave of the wand, a tea set appeared between them on the table that also appeared. The Headmaster's hands trembled as he worked the tea pot. Ron grabbed it, poured into a cup, handed it over.
"Works every time," Professor Dumbledore said, "Because your heart is pure, and loyal."
Ron groaned.
"We both cherish Mr. Potter," the Headmaster said, "We both seek to protect him, do we not?"
Ron nodded.
"I've worried about the physical, for without a body, no mind is possible," Professor Dumbledore said, "Whereas you worried about the mind, for without the will to live, one is equally as dead. Am I right?"
Ron nodded.
"I sent Fawkes last week when I heard you'd gone after Harry," the Headmaster said, "Where'd you find him?"
"Some glacier," Ron said, "Half frozen. Got him back, Hermione got him started, Gia slept with him until he recovered."
Professor Dumbledore sat there for a moment.
"You did your mother proud, me proud," the Headmaster said, "You're trying to rescue a friend from the demons within him. Unfortunately you were suspended or I'd award points."
Ron snorted.
"I spoke with Gia over the weekend on this," Professor Dumbledore said, "She seemed to think that by giving Harry a sense of a future, in her, in that muggle born kid, in Quidditch; those were all ways to help him pull through."
"I had run out of ideas," Ron admitted.
Professor Dumbledore smiled.
"And…you're the silent owner?" Ron asked.
"I know who he is," Professor Dumbledore said.
Ron spotted his own freckled face in those eyes, knew he wouldn't get a straight answer.
"Do not mistake this," the Headmaster said, "I gave you both the opportunity to join. Whether you do, your successes, and failures, will be on your merits alone, up to you both. I will not play that card again."
"Yes," Ron said, "You also had that Healer examine us in the conference."
"You noticed, five points," Professor Dumbledore said, "Your implants were poisoned."
"Hermione caught it," Ron said, "We've dealt with it."
"I needed a trained expert to verify," the Headmaster said, "And if you join, he'd make an excellent Healer."
Ron glanced at the clock, stood.
"Need to get back," Ron said, "Harry—"
"Needs the expertise of a trained Healer," Professor Dumbledore said.
"Hermione?" Ron said, "Setup an infirmary."
"Ready to brew daily?" Professor Dumbledore said, "You cannot order like Madam Pomfrey can, you're not able to keep an infirmary stocked."
"Um…" Ron muttered.
"We specialize for a reason," the Headmaster said, "The depth of knowledge required is too much for a lifetime to learn it all. Miss. Granger is smart to figure it out, however, healing is something you shouldn't be trusting to novices, because mistakes kill as readily as curses."
"What do you suggest?" Ron asked.
"Feel like interviewing for a trained Healer?" Professor Dumbledore said, "You'll need one willing to ignore the law and treat you as needed. Mr. Notley's served time in Azkaban because he believes in putting the patient first."
"Harry requires trust," Ron said, "Confidentiality."
"He evaluated a concern about your fitness for play in the fall," the Headmaster said.
A glance to the blue eyes, the ones that didn't hide, replayed Notley's reply earlier in the day.
"That might work," Ron said, "I'm about to be late for class—muggle stuff."
Ron took out his Portkey, activated it. A jerk behind the naval, and he realized he hadn't yet set it to Harry's house. He landed up in the air, where Gia's bedroom had been, and tumbled down onto the ground. Ron closed his eyes, the thought, and disapparated.
"Ron!" came the quick call as he apparated.
Harry on his back, on the bed.
"I worshiped the todger," Gia said, "And it proved bountiful."
Harry snorted.
"Class?" Ron asked.
"Oh, yeah," Harry said.
Harry rolled off, stood. Down the steps, Ron grabbed his book bag, Hermione in the corner at the dining table. Harry grabbed Ron, focused, and they disapparated.
"Glad to see you two made it," said Kristen, her eyes on them as they apparated in the community center, "I was getting worried."
"Busy day," Harry said.
Harry led the way, Ron too, to the back of the full classroom. Ron took out his notebook, the quill, and began to take notes.
Harry stretched as the class ended. He put the quill and notebook into his book–bag, stood. Ron walked with him, bags to their hips.
"Need I ask how you're getting home?" Kristen asked.
"Um…fly," Harry said.
"Fly?" Kristen asked.
Harry turned to her, in her sweats, and summoned his broom.
"Harry," Ron said, "That a good idea?"
"Beats walking through the minefield," Harry said.
"Not like a Piper," Kristen said, her eyes that went over Harry's holly broom with his name monogrammed into it.
"Can you hold onto me?" Harry said, "It's how me and Gia got to our resort for winter—no passport required."
Harry mounted the broom. Ron mounted his. Kristen trembled, her legs swung behind Harry, she held on tight. Her sweats into his backside, her fingers on his stomach.
"Gia reaches lower," Harry said.
Harry used the broom as a wand, cast the Disillusionment over them both. Harry flew in the corridor, the doors that opened, the fingers into him, and he pulled upward. Harry spotted it above, high above, a ribbon of light, the tendril. Above the treetops, they flew. Ron to the right.
"That hate group against me," Harry said, "See it below, in the yellow, seems to be their uniform."
Harry focused on Paul and Richard, the broom rotated as he flew.
"They're everywhere," Kristen said.
"It's why I can't walk, run, here anymore," Harry said, "Go fifty feet, I run into something."
Harry flew over the house in a row, landed in the back garden.
"Come in if you want," Kristen said.
Harry banished his broom back. Ron followed. They entered the conservatory.
"Mum!" Richard said, at the table with books and paper on it. Paul in the bassinet. "Ron, Harry."
"We took the scenic route," Harry said.
"That was definitely a different way of seeing things," Kristen said.
"Can't do it too often," Harry said, "Once they catch on—hate to see their next idea."
"Not always going to get worse," Ron said, "Paul needs a safe school."
Harry tickled Paul's cheeks, watched the grin, the wide eyes.
"Wait until he starts apparating," Harry said, "If he suddenly finds himself on the school roof, understand he might not have actually climbed up there."
"That's happened?" Kristen asked.
"You'll notice," Harry said, "He was spotted on the census, so he'll need to at least control his magic, Hogwarts is a good school, well, not today, but usually it is."
"I'll need help shopping for toys," Richard said.
"We've got a mess to sort out first," Ron said, "I'll talk to my Dad, he'll want to help."
Ron yawned.
"Best go," Harry said, "Nice seeing you two."
Harry hugged Kristen, shook Richard's hand.
"Later," Ron said, "We fly?"
"No," Harry said.
Harry grabbed Ron's shoulder, disapparated. They apparated into the living room. Hermione still at the table. Harry sat on the sofa, went through the books in his bag."You two didn't fly?" Hermione asked.
Harry pulled Currents of Time out of the bag, opened it.
"Bit dangerous," Harry said.
"You could've asked him," Ron said, "Devlin Whitehorn would've known."
"Great," Harry said, "My broom works great except when it drops me into alternate realities. How do I ask that without sounding nutters?"
"What?" Hermione asked.
"His broom's been acting up," Ron said.
"Hush," Harry said, "Interested in studying."
Harry caught Hermione's glare, and Ron's, a funny mixture. Ron went over to the table. Harry skimmed the book, came to it.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Existence of alternate realities is a topic of debate and conjecture. A time turner, a Ministry controlled device, does allow a user to travel back in time, however, it is limited in effect. While their controlled apparation through time will work, it cannot cross anything considered an alternate reality, therefore, their actions are constrained, and reality will resolve it. Any attempt to create a paradox will typically be fatal, therefore, any person going to alter an outcome must be deliberately ignorant of said outcome.
Harry flipped back.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
A paradox in time is a past event depending on the existence of a future event, and resulting in a contradictory outcome. For instance, going back and killing your younger self. If you were successful, that would be a temporal paradox. Conversely, going to a opera, and using a time turner to go to that specific showing a second time, so long as you did not interfere with your previous self, would not create a paradox; an overachieving student at Hogwarts could potentially use this to their advantage.
Harry smirked, thought of Hermione, worked the pages again.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
To manipulate a past event to bring out a different outcome requires that paradoxes be fed and maintained. Should such a device or phenomenon be found to support this, the energy and magic required to sustain paradoxes would be enormous, and beyond this author's ability to estimate anything less than the entire sun itself, the theoretical source of our magic.
How anybody could travel between these alternate realities is unknown, it might show up a tears, rips, or seams in the sky, or a simple pit; nor is there a guarantee they'd show up after said device is in operation. This author's best advice is to leave a marker behind, a magical edifice so you know which reality you've actually returned to.
Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione, figured it best to not worry them. He disapparated.
"Shit!" Harry belted out, fell as he apparated, two meters on the wrong side of the Astronomy Tower.
Harry summoned his broom, mounted, and leveled it up. Above him, several ribbons of light in the clouds. An aim of his broom, the horizontal line, of bright canary yellow graffiti into the side of the Astronomy Tower. Harry pulled up, avoided the threads, the huge rips and punched upward into the clouds. Above, stars, when a yellow tendril grabbed him.
Stars above changed, the single solid yellow rip above, and he fell back down. Harry rolled over, mounted his broom, and flew over the lake, near the Forbidden Forrest. Below a younger Hagrid² talked to Aragog² at the edge of those trees. Harry flew to the castle that laid in ruin, only the Astronomy Tower stood. On top, four figures. Harry cast the disillusionment charm on himself, recognized three of the four, however, two were in conversation while the other two lurked in the shadow. Harry's scar began to act up, burn a bit.
"I got word," said Dumbledore², years younger and strong in stature, no limp, no cane, "Gellert, you wished a truce, to rekindle the friendship of old."
Harry recognized the figure, from the history book, Gellert Grindelwald.
"Our old stomping ground," Grindelwald² said, "I heard it was you who wanted to join me."
"You encouraged the muggles to start a war," Dumbledore² said, "All for a wand."
"Elder Wand," Grindelwald² said, "It's the best wand there is, no other can best it."
"Best wand is in the hands of a couragous and sharp Gryffindor," Dumbledore² said, "Not some tale out of a children's book."
"We shall see," said Grindelwald².
Wings of crimson red, Fawkes flew around the tower, in circles.
"Your pet's out of that same book," Grindelwald² said.
Harry recongized the shield charm out of Dumbledore.
"Crucio!" Grindelwald² said.
A breaking of the shield, the push back, the apparation. The other two in the shadows, Riddle² and Voldemort of Harry's era, watched.
"A leg up," Voldemort said to Riddle².
Apparation around the tower, the disapparation jinxes, the curses back and forth. Riddle² and Voldemort watched as Harry did. Green flowed from Grindelwald², struck the pillar of the tower. A hand from behind Grindelwald² grabbed the wand, held it. Dumbledore² laughed, conjured ropes around Grindelwald², and grabbed that wand.
Laughter.
"How noble," said Riddle², "For the student becomes the teacher today, end of lesson."
Ropes from Voldemort bound Dumbledore² in place.
"Too bad you your battle cost you your life," Voldemort gloated.
A swish and flick, Riddle² cast it.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Riddle² shouted.
Beam of green, it struck Dumbledore², and he fell motionless. Pain in the forehead as the next one cast.
"Don't like competition," Voldemort said, "AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Grindelwald² fell from the curse, still bound in the ropes. Harry summoned both of those wands, they flew. Eyes roamed up, Fawkes flew in between.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Voldemort shouted, the green that struck Fawkes.
Harry dropped with Fawkes, to the rubble beneath, caught the bird before he hit the ground, set it down onto the grass.
"Come on my friend," Harry pleaded.
Fire erupted, consumed the phoenix, the ash around an egg. Harry waited, watched the cracks, the small chick that came out.
"Better?" Harry asked.
A fast growth spurt, the bird soared upward, vanished into a pillar of fire. Harry mounted his broom, flew up for that yellow rip in the sky, entered it. He fell.
"Every time?" Harry muttered.
Harry mounted his broom, brought it level above the ground. Above, the yellow rip fizzled, closed to a dot before it vanished, the stars as they should be. An orange dot nearby began to open. Harry spotted the castle, Hogwarts in full, with the yellow line on the side of the Astronomy Tower, flew for it, landed on top of the Astronomy Tower, and banished his broom.
"I do not know what game you're playing," said Snape to Wormtail, "Coming back to Hogwarts?"
Harry renewed his Disillusionment.
"Hogwarts is less important," Wormtail said, "You may relax."
Harry unsure, disapparated as Snape's eyes roamed toward him. Harry apparated into the Headmaster's Office, by Fawkes. Harry stroked the feathers of the bird.
"A quite advanced disillusionment," said Professor Dumbledore, "You even made it past my doors without my noticing it, well done Harry."
Harry turned around.
"I know I'm not invisible," Harry said, "Still, best I have."
"Verum," the Headmaster said, "Means true."
Harry thought it over, tried it.
"Veruminlusio!" Harry said.
"One hair didn't make it," Professor Dumbledore said.
Harry dropped the charm as he stepped in front of the desk.
"Unfortunately true invisibility is no longer allowed to be taught at Hogwarts," Professor Dumbledore said, "Professor McGonagall wishes she were allowed. Don't even think they teach that for Aurors anymore."
"Thank you," Harry said.
"I did nothing except explain a word to you," the Headmaster said. A wink. "However, I don't think you came for a dictionary."
"It's my broom," Harry said.
"You're not allowed a broom outside Hogwarts," Professor Dumbledore said.
"It's why I flew it here," Harry lied.
A snort.
"It has a quirk," Harry said.
"A quirk in a broom would be best explained by Devlin Whitehorn," the Headmaster said.
"Except this quirk…have you heard of alternate realities?" Harry went back to Fawkes. "Do you remember?"
A puff of flame, Fawkes burst into flames. An egg within the ash, the crack, the chick came out.
"So it did happen." Harry turned around.
"Any relation to the rumors of the destruction of everything by Lord Voldemort?" Professor Dumbledore asked.
Harry stood there, took a moment, as those eyes focused on him. Training of keeping his guard up, Harry had to release. Harry summoned his broom, handed it over.
"Holly wood, phoenix feather," Harry said, "It can double as a wand. It can go faster than apparation."
"This isn't a simple broom," the Headmaster said as he examined it.
"Ron tries to fly it and it's a school broom," Harry said, "I fly this broom, the night sky is torn apart in stitches. One pulls me in, and everything is different."
"That is a remarkable idea," Professor Dumbledore said, "There's a book in the library—"
"I borrowed it months ago," Harry said.
"Alas," the Headmaster said, "I'm not sure if I read it this century or last."
Harry banished the broom back into his holster.
"Of what I've seen," Harry said, "Each one is of Voldemort taking over, in some way. A London being destroyed, a sun vanquished, everything on fire."
Harry watched as Professor Dumbledore took in what he remembered.
"Last one," Harry said, "You fighting Grindelwald, only it was that Riddle AND Voldemort watching, finishing you both off."
Harry opened his holster, pulled out the two wands, set them on the desk.
"Haven't seen this one in years," the Headmaster said, of the younger Dumbledore's wand, "Likely in a box somewhere."
"Voldemort is manipulating time," Harry said, "Whatever he's using, or will use, is causing these rips in the sky I'm seeing."
Harry studied the eyes, the lack of surprise.
"You knew?" Harry asked.
"I suspected something was amiss," said the Headmaster, "Or its a very talented Seer tricking me. What you're describing is beyond what I had considered."
"Really?" Harry asked.
"Like you," Professor Dumbledore said, "I've let my guard down."
Harry paced.
"However," Professor Dumbledore said, "What you're describing would take a massive machine, that's tough to hide. Where would he have built it?"
"That's not to say he hasn't built it, at least not yet," Harry said, "Maybe he's toying with something now, I don't know. So far, our reality has the most rips in the sky, all the others are one."
Harry went back to Fawkes, on the perch.
"Bet you know," Harry said to the bird.
"You, of all people," the Headmaster said, "Should know that to have knowledge of the future is to be a slave to it."
Harry returned to the desk.
"At least in ordinary temporal magic," Professor Dumbledore said, "Trelawney made a prophecy, and Voldemort learned of it. Voldemort could've chosen Neville, but he chose you, and marked you that night many years ago. You have gifts and talents not only from your parents but from Voldemort as well, you remember that, right?"
Harry watched him.
"Lord Voldemort chose to be a slave to that prophecy and bind you both to it," Professor Dumbledore said, "So, what do you think we should do about this?"
"Fly carefully," Harry said.
Harry caught the glance.
"If I were in your shoes," the Headmaster said, "I'd do what you're already doing."
"You mean fight back," Harry said, "If he's got this machine—"
"Supports paradoxes," the Headmaster said, "If you vanquish the creator before it's construction, reality should heal itself, as it always does. Also, the sooner you do, the fewer casualties there will be."
"All comes back to me!" Harry grumbled.
"Count your supporters," Professor Dumbledore said, "Go ahead, count your army."
"Um…" Harry muttered.
"I'll count off," Professor Dumbledore said, "One. Now, go on, count the others."
Harry sighed.
"Though they'll appreciate if you wait until morning," the Headmaster said, "Getting a bit late."
Harry nodded.
"I'll let you be," Harry said, "I'll just go now."
Harry backed to the door, left, and disapparated.
Date: Thu Jan 4 09:53:35 2024