In the Crosshairs
Dragon Voldemort
Chapter 105: Offers
Friday morning, Hermione leaned over The Daily Prophet as she read, and Harry read over her shoulder at the front page. On the front, a picture of the hair trap with the article.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Friday 21 March 1997
Double Proof
by Rita Skeeter
Proof of doubles in Potter's case was obtained by the discovery of this hair trap designed to collect the hairs of the unsuspecting prey for use in Polyjuice Potion, mines, and other insidious devices from You–Know–Who Research and Development. This collection device, one of six found yesterday at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, proves that foul play is amiss with regards to Potter's supposed misdeeds, and it leads credence to the conspiracy theory first brought to you by yours truly.
"Check the opinions," Ron said, "That person from Peterhead doesn't believe us, thinks we've brainwashed Skeeter too."
"Like I didn't know that?" Harry snapped.
"It's informative," Hermione said.
"Should read that one from the Salem Stake," Ron said, "That suggestion seemed—uncomfortable."
"Thanks," Harry snapped.
"Like reading more is helping," Hermione said dryly with sarcasm.
"And now we know it's festering across the pond," Ron said.
"They didn't recognize me last night," Harry said, "So, less widespread there."
A glance from both Ron and Hermione.
"Tell you later," Harry said, "Got class."
"It's Potions," Ron said.
"I'm going," Harry said.
"Finally," Harry grumbled as he managed to scour the cauldron clean, minutes after Neville had already left.
"That's the secret training," Ron said, "How to get rid of really foul messes."
Harry snorted. Harry put the cauldron up to dry.
"Like any of this really matters," Harry said as he spun. He walked to the desk with Hermione, his eyes went to Professor Snape. "Bet you'll cheer with my death, drink a few bottles of Firewhiskey."
"Harry!" Hermione snapped.
Harry went for the door. Ron and Hermione followed.
"What's gotten into you?" Ron asked, hand to Harry's shoulder.
"Later," Harry promised.
Harry spun, went up the steps, Ron and Hermione followed. Harry's wand out, the sword that flew, shattered.
"Wood's!" Ron snapped.
"Oh, yeah," Harry said.
Harry went along the ground floor corridor, to the familiar office, and knocked.
"Enter!" came the shout.
Harry opened the door. Inside, Wood stood next to the table; his desk to the side. On the other side of the table, Meyers, Gerber, Kline, Whitehorn, and Notley; Meyers with his jacket on the chair, the coaches with matching white shirts. Food on the table, a bowl of pasta, sandwiches, soups. Wood sat first.
"Good day," Coach Meyers said, reached across the table. Harry shook the hand, as did Ron.
Ron and Hermione sat, Harry remained standing, watched.
"Bet you wanted pizza," Hermione said to Ron.
Hermione took salad. Ron scooped up the pasta.
"Please Harry," Wood said, "House Elfs brought enough for everybody."
"I'm fine," Harry said as Ron grabbed half a smoked chicken.
"Nice line of articles," Kline said, working on a chicken thigh, "Helps to understand what you're up against."
"Thanks, I guess," Harry said.
Harry turned, and went to the painting of Madam Hooch. He'd seen her that morning years earlier, wondered if she'd be as generous as Wood, or be wearing canary yellow.
"Not like we trust either side, not yet," Gerber said, "And yours should be getting more attention."
"Definitely," Ron managed between bites.
Harry turned around.
"Sure," Gerber continued, "If you dig deep enough, sure you'll find something like littering in a park."
"Central park," Wood said, "Found its name."
Harry pulled the chair out, sat next to Ron.
"What's more important is the personal interaction," Gerber said, "Which is why lunch matters."
Harry poured himself the hot water, added the tea leaves, let it seep. Black seeped out into the water, clouded it up. Harry watched Ron scoop up bite after bite of pasta; even with the smells of the chicken, his stomach wasn't interested, though he knew it likely should be. Echoing in Harry's mind, the words of Neville, that Harry and Ron weren't going to make it.
"Lemme guess," Wood said, "Dreading the thought of having to use a slower broom?"
Harry snorted, sipped his tea at first.
"We use Firebolts," Coach Meyers said.
"Slow," Ron said.
"Yes," Whitehorn said, "Prototypes are not legal for matches. Must be known brooms, put through their paces by everybody."
"Legalize Harry's," Wood said, "Goal posts at the north and south poles, race through the Himalayas."
Harry snorted.
"Think of the jobs," Wood said, "The Ministry would have to employ a bunch of Obliviators."
"Three…two…one…" Hermione whispered.
"Like we could even measure your broom," Ron said to Harry.
"That machine can't register Harry's broom speed," Wood said, "Goes too fast."
A grin from Devlin Whitehorn.
"We took it for a spin," Harry said.
"Never seen the Statue of Liberty before," Wood said, "Maybe a minute between Hogwarts and there."
"That's where you went?" Ron asked Harry.
"More than there," Harry whispered.
"About that long from there to the Pyramids," Wood said, "And back…became a tad complicated."
Harry understood, the mention of alternative realities would make them both seem as nutters to the coaches as they seemed to that lady in Central park.
"It's a broom that performs…for me," Harry said, "No, it's a great broom, though I understand why there cannot be another."
"Your needs exceed Quidditch which is why Mr. Ollivander assisted in its construction," Devlin Whitehorn said, "In professional matches, it's team issued brooms."
"Oh," Hermione said, "Imagine the horror of flying slow."
Ron snorted, face covered in the seasoning of the chicken in his mouth. Harry stood again, moved to lean back against the wall.
"We've got older brooms too," Kline said, "Our goal with training is to bring out your talent, hone it. Give a rookie the latest model, and they'll certainly get speed, but there's more to flying like agility, maneuvering, recovering from mishaps."
Harry checked the eyes that watched him. Coach Meyers' being pressured to push doubts aside. Gerber in seeing the talent within Harry. Kline hopeful that Harry had enough resilience for an unorthodox training regiment. Whitehorn had some skepticism, however, let others persuade him into supporting this boy wizard. Wood's that remembered trying to keep Harry's participation a secret before that first game.
"Gotta slow things down enough so the spectators can actually see you fly," Wood said, "I mean, having the Quidditch pitch the size of the planet sounds cool, but nobody would enjoy watching that."
Harry glanced at Notley's eyes, the reservations, the doubts, and the concerns.
"Sign and I can help," Notley said.
"Give them the quills," Hermione said, "You'll get signatures."
"Read the letters of offer first." Coach Meyers pulled out two sheets of parchment. "These are binding contracts so make certain you understand before you sign."
Harry summoned the parchment into his fingers.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Dear Harry James Potter,
I hereby offer you the position of Reserve Seeker in Puddlemere United team under the following terms.
Harry kept reading it.
"You're sticky there," Hermione said to the coaches.
"We've heard many excuses," Coach Meyers said, "Better to take the time now, make sure they're aware of the rules to begin with."
"My likeness?" Harry asked.
"It's not a charity," Coach Meyers said, "Pictures, promotions, ticket sales, and other merchandise, that's how we can afford to pay you."
"Have you walked the corridors recently?" Ron said, "Your likeness is already getting sold—them or these folks?"
"Seen plenty of my likeness," Harry said.
"Small price," Hermione suggested, "Know Gia would prefer the Quidditch ones."
Harry snorted.
"Practice?" Harry asked.
"Camp's in July," Coach Meyers said, "I've already spoken with your Headmaster to make sure there's not a conflict, he'll accommodate this."
Harry spotted the pressure being applied, Dumbledore's fingerprints on it. Ron's red head turned.
"He wants to help you have a bit of fun," Ron said, "I mean—walk the corridors. And it's not like we're getting much practice here, my skills are withering away."
"It's a four hour session once a week until camp," Kline said, "Come to the stadium after classes, pick a day of the week, and coordinate it with us."
"Even an hour would beat what you do in Gryffindor practice," Wood said, "Work up a sweat, get something specific, and it's unaffected by suspensions."
A glance to Ron's eyes, Ron understood before Harry had to convey.
"Might we practice more often?" Ron asked, "If we're suspended, we'll have plenty of time to spare."
Harry unsure between the smile to Kline's face and the concern to Coach Meyers' eyes.
"Going to try that new training on them?" Wood asked Kline.
"Bit unorthodox," Kline said, "My hunch is they're going to need it off the pitch too."
Harry caught the glimpses, nobody's tried it yet, however, the confidence that Harry and Ron could do it, two guinea pigs.
"Before we get ahead of ourselves," Coach Meyers said, "Have you finished reading?"
"Money goes where?" Ron asked.
A glance to Hermione as she read over Ron's shoulder.
"Your direct deposit authorizations are still in force," said Gerber, "You're welcome to change it."
"That'll work," Ron said.
"Mine might need change—have to talk to…" Harry thought of Percy. "I'll figure it out later."
Harry went through a bit more of the terms.
"Seems fair," Harry said.
"Meant to be," Kline said, "You respect us, and we respect you, because bad feelings destroy the team."
Harry glanced at the painting of Madam Hooch, imagined the canary yellow.
"Finnigan's group isn't going to be happy about this," Harry said.
"Wards are bound to the silent owner," Devlin Whitehorn said, "I understand he's quite formidable, you're safe with him."
"As to the rest of security," Coach Meyers said, "It's being bolstered in addition to the usual anti–apparation outside of controlled points and an anti–jinx ward to keep the fans from interfering. That's why even if you sign now, first practice can't happen until Monday."
"There's that act—" Hermione started.
"Professional Quidditch got itself exempted but did not advertise it," said Devlin Whitehorn, "Within the stadium, you can have brooms, or even solicit a healer."
Notley smiled.
"Other players?" Harry asked.
"Read the final provision," said Coach Meyers, "It's a separate signature for a reason."
Harry read it.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
I, Harry James Potter, will guard the secrets of my team and my fellow players. I shall not divulge them unless authorized. This oath will not expire with the above contract.
"Everybody signs that," Coach Meyers said, "That obligates them to keeping the secrecy."
"It's a two season contract," Ron said.
"Consider that a lifetime contract," Harry said.
Harry caught Ron's glance, obvious concern behind those blue eyes. Wood glanced at the clock.
"I couldn't preempt you for a second time in a week," Wood said, "So you will have class."
"Give me the quill!" Ron said.
Harry sat at the table, took his quill, signed it. A wave of heat came over him.
"See you Monday after school," Coach Meyers said.
"I'll need to see my girl home from hers," Harry said, "It's quick, so I'll be there after that."
Coach Meyers took the letters, handed out two separate sheets.
"Copies of what you signed," Coach Meyers said, "Keep these so you can refer to them. There's explanations on the back if you're ever in doubt."
Harry put his into his book–bag, stood back up. Ron stood. Hermione went with Ron and Harry. They left Wood's office.
Harry disillusioned himself as he apparated into the auditorium later that afternoon. Seats empty, and Gia already sitting on the edge of the stage. Harry came down, sat to Gia's left side, and his disillusion dropped. Harry reached, held her ring finger, his right arm against her.
"I enchanted this so you can see the wizarding world through my eyes," Harry said, "And boy…you're seeing it at its worse, wish you'd see it at its best instead."
"It's a cruel world," Gia said.
"Thought it'd blow over at first—rumors, the news,," Harry said, "It usually does—well before, it did. This year, it's grown worse and worse, and that monster came here. Sorry about that."
"Before you get too worked up," Gia suggested, "Need to see if I've got mail."
Harry got off the stage, Gia with him.
"Going outside first," Harry said, "Wave off Moody."
Harry cast the disillusionment onto her, himself, and they went for the door. Outside, a wave to Moody, whose eye spotted them. Harry held Gia, a thought, disapparated.
"So," said Frank as Harry and Gia apparated in, "I followed up on the claim, and you wouldn't believe it. They had CCTV footage, the council workers did lift their motorcar, painted the no parking stripes, and lowered it back down."
"Helpful," Kristen said, dryly.
Harry's disillusionment dropped.
"Harry!" Kirsten exclaimed.
"You!" Harry pointed at her. "Of all people, you should be on family leave."
"Good luck," Frank said to Harry.
"We came for my mail," Gia said.
"One moment," Kristen said.
Kristen stood, left.
"You sneak well," Frank said.
"I walk out there and somebody dies trying to kill us," Harry said, "I'd rather not."
"Ordinarily I'd consider you paranoid," Frank said.
"I've lost track of the number of tries you've had to investigate," Harry said, "I'd rather take the quiet way and save you a headache."
"I appreciate that," Frank said.
"Here we go," Kristen said as she carried in a small stack.
Gia went through, picked the formal looking one first.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Dear Gia Prescott
You have been cordially invited to join the National Holden Honor society. To accept this nomination, please be at Noigate Center of Excellence at 679 Center Drive by 7 pm Friday. You may bring one friend or associate to witness this occasion.
Chapter President, Noigate UK
Harry grabbed it, checked both sides of the paper.
"Who are they?" Harry asked, "National Holden Honor society?"
Harry shook his head.
"You're suspicious," Frank said, "That's good."
Harry nodded.
"Dunno," Gia said, "I'm aware of Golden, but not Holden."
"I'm certainly not aware," Kristen said, "Richard would be in it."
Gia handed it over, Kristen examined the letter.
"This center, the address," Kristen said, "Doesn't feel right."
"I'll stake it out," Frank said, "If you don't mind."
Gia nodded as Kristen handed the letter over to Frank.
"I may…I'm curious," Harry said.
"It's an investigation," Frank said.
"You might need…" Harry pulled a hair, handed it over. "One of these to trigger the magical proximity detectors."
Frank put the black hair into an envelope, left the office. Harry glanced at Gia's expression, the eyes at the letter.
"Dad's estate," Gia said, "Apparently lucky to escape—somebody from the government filed a protest a day late. I would've lost the rest of it."
"One guess who," Harry muttered.
"Best to be going," Gia whispered to Harry.
"Nice seeing you," Kristen said, "Don't be a stranger."
"Likewise," Harry said.
Harry held Gia, disapparated. Gia kissed Harry as they apparated into the green living room. Ron and Hermione at the dining table.
"Where are you going?" Gia asked Harry.
Harry glanced at her.
"Seen that look before," Gia said,
"Invite's at seven," Harry said, "It's not even five, I'll be a few minutes."
Harry cast the Invisibility Charm on himself and summoned his broom.
"Harry!" Ron said, "No fair."
Harry jumped on the broom, disapparated, apparated above Center Drive, flew along. Motor cars below, he counted up, to a dilapidated and vacant shop like building, one in the middle of a couple. To the other side of the street, Frank had a pair of binoculars.
Honk!
A lorry below double parked, blocked the road. A delivery man moved, unloaded the back to the doorstep. Harry went up, over the building to the other side, the smell of gasoline infiltrated his nostrils. A man carried some green jerry cans into the back of the building.
Curiosity and realizing both doors were open, Harry bolted down, the broom did the hair point turn through the back, past the man pouring the petrol across the floor. A pop to the corner, the fire that began to rush in, and Harry flew out the front.
Whump!
Smoke poured out fast, both sides. Harry loitered up in the air, watched as the firetrucks rushed, before he disapparated.
"Harry just runs off—" Hermione started as Harry apparated back in.
"He thought it was a trap," Gia said.
Harry's invisibility dropped as he stowed his broom.
"It was a trap," Harry said, "They—whoever sent the letter, was setting it up."
Harry sat at the table.
"Too bad it went off ahead of schedule," Harry said.
"You didn't," Hermione said.
"Their trap," Harry said, "I flew by."
Ron snorted.
"Handled that," Gia said, "Suppose you reported the fire."
"Frank was already watching," Harry said.
Harry grabbed his book–bag, pulled out parchment, and began to work.
Evening had already set in, the darkness that began to brew outside. Harry cross–legged on the bed, faced Gia. Ron on his back on the other side, Hermione petted Crookshanks laying between Ron's legs.
Gia leaned over, kissed Harry.
"I've got class," Hermione said, "And so does Gia."
"Need my broom?" Ron asked.
Harry understood the glare.
Knock! Knock!
"I'll…get that." Harry stood. Harry moved fast down the stairs.
Knock! Knock!
A fast aim of the wand.
"Uno modo inlusio!" Harry muttered.
On the other side, he spotted it, the black robes of Severus Snape, the emerald green of Professor McGonagall.
"Perhaps we were given the incorrect address," said Snape.
Harry opened the door, gave the most plastic smile he could muster. Dark eyes that glared.
"Welcome to the Potter…um," Harry said, "My home. Living room to the left."
Harry stepped aside as Dumbledore appeared two steps behind Snape and McGonagall.
"Pathetic Potter Palace?" Snape sneered as he entered.
"Be civil Severus," said McGonagall, "It does not reflect well to befoul Mr. Potter in his own house."
"Truth never befouls," Snape sneered.
"Civility Severus," Dumbledore said, his cane tapped as he entered.
Fred and George appeared on the street, walked up, in matching green and gold suits.
"Living room," Harry said, "Dobby and Winky can set you up with anything you may need."
Fred and George walked around Harry, their eyes aimed up the stairs.
"Tour is after the party," Harry said.
Fred and George started climbing the stairs.
"No!" Harry barked, wand out, aimed at the staircase.
Fred and George hit the invisible wall halfway up the stairs.
"No fair!" Fred exclaimed.
Harry controlled that wall, brought both of them back down the stairs. Arthur Weasley leaned in.
"Little wizards' room?" asked Arthur Weasley.
"Up the stairs," Harry said, "Straight across."
Harry released the wall, his eyes on the twins. Arthur Weasley went up the steps.
"Refrain from self–inviting yourselves," Harry stated to the twins.
Both Fred and George glared. Harry smiled.
"Getting better," said Tonks as she entered, the pink hair.
"Thank you," Harry said.
Harry stuck his head out the front door, no more that he saw, and closed that door. Harry turned into the living room. Chairs rearranged, some new ones, though Fred and George were on the sofa. Dumbledore on a fancy plush armchair in front of the window.
"Thank you Mr. Potter for this housewarming party," said Dumbledore, "Nobody else is able to host."
"You're welcome," Harry said.
Harry's eyes went to several who didn't use the door, like Amelia Bones, Moody, and Shacklebolt. Ron stood in the kitchen area. Crookshanks walked across, hopped up onto McGonagall's lap, and she petted the orange cat, strands of orange began to scatter on her emerald green robes.
"Lupin's manor is under siege," Dumbledore said, "Despite repeated attempts, Wolfsbane Potion could not be delivered in time, and Remus is therefore confined to that room. After that, he will relocate."
"It's not easy to surrender," Shacklebolt said.
"It's not always by choice," Harry said.
"Diagon alley is now out of bounds," Dumbledore said.
"Thought you had private space in the back," Harry said.
"Not private anymore," Fred said, "Merchants association's crime prevention team are now patrolling inside and out of all shops, ours included given our relationships. You or Ron visit and we're likely out of business."
"Emily's disappointed," George said.
"Have to send her to the house," Ron said, "I can—"
"No," Fred said, "We're getting searched there."
"As is everybody else," Dumbledore said to Harry.
Harry glanced at Amelia Bones.
"She's—" Harry started.
"Mine's under constant surveillance," Bones said, "Ask anybody here."
"And you know how it is at Hogwarts," McGonagall said.
Harry glanced at Mr. Weasley, also on the sofa, in the greenish bluish sports blazer, the hat on the head over the thinning red hair.
"Finnigan's little group?" Harry asked.
"It's not so little," Mr. Weasley said, "Over a quarter the wizarding population in Britain and Ireland has signed up, well over half likely considering it."
"Half?" Harry stammered.
"More than enough willing volunteers to cause us trouble," Mr. Weasley said, "In the name of ensuring we can't easily stray from their control, mingle and meet."
"You've seen it in town," Bones said, "So you can understand why everybody's house is getting watched."
Harry glanced around, avoided Snape with his stand against the wall. A moment to Ron, the friendly face.
"I made Hogwarts my home ages ago," said McGonagall, "However, I checked the villa, it too is being watched."
"Unlike you," Tonks said, her eyes on Harry, "We've haven't had to be as secretive. As an Auror, mine was considered secret—but it's been leaked."
"Mine was guarded too," Bones said, "Doesn't mean it can't leak."
"Molly and I made no secret to the location of the Burrow," Arthur said, "Well known to be in Catchpole, Devon. Bit of observation with a bunch of kids around, and it'd be found."
"Makes it tough to meet," Dumbledore said, "Which is why we're grateful Mr. Potter."
"You're welcome," Harry said.
"Nice…place," Fred said, as Harry realized he was trying to stay nice, "How'd he get it?"
"Inherited," Dumbledore said, "Let you explain why it was needed, Harry."
Harry launched into the explanation, the attack to 26 Oak Street. Horror crept across Arthur's face. Dumbledore explained the interrogation.
"They're into the census?" Arthur said, "If they're getting Muggleborn locations, then they could get anything in there. It's existence has been a source of debate for years, the fear being it is used in that manner."
"Fortunately," Dumbledore said, "There are measures—"
Harry caught the glance toward Ron, and Ron vanished.
"We can take," Dumbledore continued, "So far, the old house is still listed as Mr. Potter's address."
"A fine job of excuse making in the press," Snape sneered.
"What'd you expect me to do?" Harry snapped, "Curl over and die?"
"Civility Severus," Dumbledore said.
"It is your thug organization causing him pain Severus," McGonagall said, "Remember that."
"Excuse me," Harry said.
Harry went up the stairs, a turn to the bedroom. Ron sitting on the bed, a green ghostly head of Percy above the dresser.
"Remember," Ron said, "We need those census folders destroyed for our safety."
"I cannot make any guarantees," Percy said.
Percy's head vanished.
"Mind?" Harry asked, his eyes on Ron's.
Ron lifted the small coin sized stone, with a center dip.
"Private fire," Ron said, "Allows for fire chats between the two stones, little chance of interception. It only gets my head, nothing else."
Ron put it into his wand holster.
"Wards should've—" Harry said.
"Hedwig's a lovely owl," Ron said.
Hoot!
"She gets noticed," Ron said, "Percy's about to conduct another audit—Census is now on his list. It's more than Dumbledore can do."
Harry sighed.
"They're whining down there," Harry said.
Ron nodded.
"You heard them," Ron said, "Can't offer us refuge. Might be able to duck in for a cup of tea, but that's it. Any more and their houses are gone. They move, the census shows the new address, and it repeats."
Ron's eyes on Harry.
"Could go back down," Ron said, "Sure they'd listen to your prophecies of doom and gloom, that'd fit in."
Harry sat. Hedwig flew onto Harry's shoulder.
"What Wood left out," Harry said, "We fell into two alternate realities. First one…" Harry explained the pyramids.
"They were razing them to the ground?" Ron asked.
"Maybe the machine can only support a paradox for so long?" Harry said, "They all seem to self–destruct. Anyways, the second one, I met Neville."
"Plenty of Nevilles from the sound of it," Ron said.
"Seemed to be ours," Harry said, "Except, he's from our future."
Ron's blue eyes on Harry, as Harry explained the encounter, the Quidditch match.
"You're sure Neville wasn't from that alternate reality?" Ron asked.
"He was surprised about his younger self being marked as the Boy Who Lived," Harry said.
"That Neville was convinced we were both executed," Harry said, "He did have a battle scar, but close enough, a year or two at most."
"No wonder you didn't worry about two seasons," Ron said.
Harry shook his head, stood, leaned back against the half–height dresser.
"Okay, so we're dead," Ron said, "I think I can handle that. Any details?"
"Not really," Harry said, "Likely better."
"What are we telling Hermione? Gia?" Ron asked.
"Nothing," Harry said, "Voldemort's operating…or will operate something, causing paradoxes, letting him get that stone, he'll have the Elixir of Life."
"Meanwhile they're debating unwanted surveillance downstairs," Ron said, "I'm sure they'd be interested in this."
"They're incompetent and bumbling fools," Harry said, "Sure, they're talented, but it's getting squandered."
"What would you suggest they do?" Ron asked.
Harry turned around, himself in the mirror behind the dresser. Bottle green eyes, beneath his jet black hair, the scar on his forehead. Ron on the bed, the red hair, the blue eyes over the freckled face, both ears to either side.
"That's the thing," Harry said, "I don't know either."
Ron got up, stood next to Harry. Ron's stature gave him more than a half–head advantage to Harry..
"Think Dumbledore has it any easier?" Ron asked.
Harry shook his head.
"He listens, tries to understand," Ron said, "When he acts, he guesses to the best outcome, and takes it, because the debate is over, he can't delay. He put you into the Dursleys because that was the best outcome he could foresee. You made it clear you needed more, and he pulled strings to get us on the team."
"Figures," Harry said.
"You're worth it," Ron said, "And… Neville's news is… heartening."
"You would," Harry said.
"Means I stuck with you all the way," Ron said, "I won't be forgotten, the one executed standing with Harry Potter."
Harry studied Ron in the mirror.
"Besides," Ron said, "Train up, take out as many as we can while we go down. Maybe it'll go better for us."
Red hair, the hand to Harry's shoulder.
"Back downstairs," Ron said, "Their problems are our problems, and it's free intelligence."
Harry turned, feet on the carpet of the stairs, and he went back down into the living room.
Buttons fastened themselves, the jacket of Magical Law Enforcement over the Seeker's chest.
"You seem fashionable," said the Chaser, sporting the same.
They approached with the Aurors, Pedlinge with them, along the house in Colchester. A blast of the door, they caught her, Rita Skeeter in her living room, quill in her hand.
"Not a fan of honest reporting?" asked Rita Skeeter, as she stood.
"We have some questions," Pedlinge said.
"And new faces?" Rita Skeeter asked.
"Potential recruits along to observe," Pedlinge said, "Now, come with me."
"That's where…" Rita Skeeter said, "Mind if I change first? A bit of clean up before I get my picture taken?"
"We mind," Pedlinge said.
"Can you at least repair the front door?" Rita Skeeter said, "Keep the neighbors out, always trying to get free sugar from me."
Pedlinge turned, wand aimed, the door repaired itself. The Seeker turned back, Rita Skeeter gone.
"Disapparation—" Pedlinge said.
"Not that," said the Chaser.
"We'll show you where to search," the Seeker said, "Where's the other?"
"Had to keep an eye on somebody," the Chaser said, "One whose loyalties have become…suspect."
Percy heard the chimes of Big Ben announce midnight as he flashed his Auditor Badge on the fifth floor. Echo of his shoes on the hardwood between the cabinets, he went to the one marked for nineteen eighty, opened it.
"Spot check into a couple of troublemakers," Percy said, "Hope you understand."
Percy shuffled through the folders arranged by height of the individual, and he found them. Aside from Harry's, Ron's, and Hermione's folders, he grabbed another six, stuffed them into two copies of the Daily Sport, and left the room.
"I can loiter if you have a table available," Percy said, "Please, bring me the books, or I intend to eat my lunch while reviewing these."
A glare from the witch, Percy made back for the lifts. Unsure if he heard the footsteps again as he left the lift, he went back to his cubicle.
"Please be advised that three gobstones have escaped," the announcement said, "If seen, do not panic, do not approach, for these are rabid."
Percy sat at his desk, opened the box of parchment, removed his lunch, the smells of the casserole filled him. He ate, unsure if he heard breathing in the next cubicle over. A cleaning of the dish, he put the three census folders within, put it back into the box of parchment.
Saturday morning, Ron went with Harry, down the steps, into the living room, over to the dining room. Pan with a lid on it, the smells of the bacon, the beans. Hermione was already over The Daily Prophet on the table, while Gia poured a bit of juice.
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Saturday 22 March 1997
Reviews at Ministry
Yesterday, the Minister of Magic announced a top to bottom review of all processes and procedures at the Ministry of Magic. This is the start of an overdue semi–annual evaluation and is a routine manner. However, the Minister hopes this will assure everyone including some notable whiners that the Ministry is a well run institution upholding the values this community holds dear.
"Routine," Harry said, "Yeah right."
Hermione pulled the paper away, however, Harry pulled it back.
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Rita Skeeter Caught Red Handed
Yesterday, Magical Law Enforcement Squad raided the house of Rita Skeeter in Colchester; they discovered numerous Dark Items and other corroborating evidence hinting at a strong alliance with the Dark Harry Potter. Among the items discovered were books on dark curses, dark quills, and shrunken muggle skulls. Further investigations showed that Rita Skeeter is an unregistered Animagus, also illegal. Skeeter eluded authorities and fled the scene. Minister Fallerschain has listed Rita Skeeter under the SDWCA as an accomplice to Potter.
"Blimey!" Harry exclaimed, "She tried to be kind…"
Harry stormed across the living room. Ron ran, pinned Harry to the wall of the stairs.
"I run and you jump!" Harry said.
"Your record's against you," Ron said, "So, I will intrude, keep you from doing anything rash."
"Grope will you?" Harry snapped.
"You heard Neville." Ron stepped back. "We're in this together, at least until our execution. Think they'll bury us together? Side by side? Or you on top?"
"At this rate you won't get there," Harry said.
"Visit Skeeter—now," Ron said, steering the outrage he spotted in those bottle green eyes.
"What?" Harry asked.
"You're close, very close to it," Ron said, "See, we want you back." His finger pushed on Harry's chest. "The Harry who won't stop fighting. The Harry who can take the punches without them killing you. She's now listed, we'll go ask her how she feels about it, alright?"
Bottle green eyes that twitched.
"Apparate me to Rita Skeeter," Ron said, "I can do the talking."
"Good," Harry said, "You've got a fat mouth."
Ron glared, his finger pushed to Harry's stomach. Harry closed his eyes. As if being pulled through a tight tube, they apparated.
"Pardon?" came the call.
Inside the small parlor, a bed, a small table to the side, an armchair by a small fireplace. Lime green robes that hung from the door next to ones in pink. Ron turned to the blonde lady sitting at that table with creame cakes and a bottle of gin.
"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley," Rita Skeeter said, "I had asked Tom for some companionship, guess you'll do fine."
"Um," Ron said, "That was not the point of our visit."
Rita stood, came over, her arms around Ron's shoulders.
"That'd be a bit…disappointing," Rita said.
"I'm here," Harry said.
"I think I can handle two boys," Rita Skeeter said as she moved over to Harry, "Besides, I'm on your guidance committee—or at least was. It's my duty to make sure you're healthy, isn't that the role of a motherly figure?"
Ron snorted.
"Not funny," Harry snapped.
"Maybe it best not to—never know," Rita Skeeter said, "Tom promised these were warded, yet you two managed to make it in."
"Harry has a way," Ron said, "We came because of the article."
"You're going to?" Harry asked Ron.
"We're getting decimated," Ron said, "When those idiots come crawling back—don't want them hiding behind ignorance.."
Ron turned to Rita.
"You know how to pick your battles," Rita Skeeter said.
"Harry hated your reporting with your Quick Quotes Quill," Ron said, "It's why I confiscated it, and…last week was refreshing."
"Wish you hadn't of brought her in," Harry said, "She's now a target."
Ron studied Harry's eyes for a moment.
"She's on the list," Harry said, pointed at her.
"She's turned around," Ron said, "Today she doing it right, like now, and we need that."
Harry glared. Ron leaned back against the wall.
"Understand Harry," Ron said, "He'll love you given half the chance. Voldemort's undermining his support, having us do the dirty work to persecute him. People have already died at his feet, my feet, because Voldemort's still after Harry."
Ron went to the fireplace, watched the embers.
"They're systematically destroying Harry's life on Voldemort's behalf," Ron said, "His right to a girl, right to a family, to friends, to a future, to an education, and to a life."
Ron turn back around.
"Your life's at stake," Harry said.
"Retraction in tomorrow's paper," Rita Skeeter replied.
"What sort of retraction?" Ron asked.
"I'm a witch of my craft," Rita Skeeter said, "You'll see."
Harry went to Ron, and they stood side by side.
"Lets see how tomorrow works out," Harry said, "Get you off the list."
"How do you cope?" Rita Skeeter said, "You see the mess I'm. You're kids, so must be tougher."
Ron bit his lip.
"It is," Harry said, "Depressing in fact, to see people getting killed, raped, to get at me. Takes strong friendship to pull through—hope we do."
Harry extended his hand, Rita Skeeter shook.
"And when it's over," Rita Skeeter said, "An exclusive."
"Time to go," Harry said, "Close your eyes."
Ron grabbed onto Harry; Ron felt the squeeze as they disapparated.
With night encroaching upon them, Sirius had to risk it, his stomach, both stomachs were on empty, the howling from below. A disillusion with the wand, he went into the kitchen. Outside, he could see the figures in canary yellow, not yet dimmed out by the fading evening. Sirius pulled out the cuts of meat, put the ham into the oven. Smells of honey and mustard mingled with that of the ham.
Howling downstairs.
Shaking, fast shaking, every wall, the ceiling, the floor shook, the table rattled. Outside, the view changed fast. Sirius transformed, began to move, however, the timbers within the ceiling buckled, the brick of the fireplace scattered, the room collapsed as a sea of canary yellow invaded.
Howling, a fast blur as the fur of the werewolf ran past. A bite to one of the invaders, Padfoot bolted.
"GET THEM!" came the shouts.
Curses, however, the werewolf knew the rocks better. Padfoot chased, dragged his friend off, away from the base of the badly eroded cliff, where the rubble of Lupin's manor now rested.
Ron woke Sunday, only fur upon him, the bed otherwise empty.
Meow!
Ron petted the ginger cat, swung his legs and got up.
Hoot!
Ron gave Hedwig a couple of strokes, the eyes upon him.
"Guessing…" Ron started.
Ron grabbed an owl treat, broke a bit off. Hedwig munched on the large bit, Pig on the smaller one. Ron heard the shower stop, and met up with Hermione coming out of the lavatory as he stepped out of the bedroom.
"You're chipper," Hermione said.
They went down the stairs. Hermione reached into the mail cauldron.
"Always bad news," Ron said, "Can we like not?"
"You love being an idiot," Hermione said.
Hermione carried the bundle to the table. Ron went into the kitchen area, grabbed the frying pan.
"Oh no," Hermione said, "Harry needs to see this—well, shouldn't. Still, good thing he's not here to read it."
"It's Harry's house," Ron said, "No reason for him to spend the night here."
Ron went over to the table and read, the front picture of a vicious werewolf tearing at a victim.
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Sunday 23 March 1997
Werewolf Terror in Mogmore
Last night, a werewolf on the prowl viciously attacked near the village of Mogmore, Wales. three people were killed, two more were bitten. Ministry authorities are now hunting to eliminate this threat.
"From Sirius." Hermione held up a letter addressed to Harry. "Even I can guess it. Do we?"
"We need to be ready," Ron said.
Hermione's wand out, the letter opened.
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Harry
EM attacked Lupin's manor and destroyed it; Lupin fled in werewolf form and his whereabouts are unaccounted for. Those fools, bastards, they unleashed a werewolf into the local village while denying him the Wolfsbane potion that could have kept him docile.
Snuffles
"Even I want to go and find him," Ron said.
Hermione's wand charmed, the letter resealed itself.
"Can you handle a werewolf?" Hermione asked.
"Bring him to the Shrieking Shack?" Ron asked.
"What do you think Sirius is trying to do?" Hermione asked.
"You're trying to stop me," Ron said.
"We need to be ready to stop Harry," Hermione said, "It's crawling with EM, Ministry, and whoever else feels like hunting a werewolf. We go in, even with Harry, and all we do is either add to the victim count or slay Lupin."
"It's more than sitting on our arses!" Ron said.
"I agree with what Dumbledore would say," Hermione said, "Let Sirius handle it, he's the one who can, it's Lupin's only chance."
Ron grunted.
"Talking me out of it?" Ron asked.
"Yes," Hermione said, "Glad you're getting sharp."
Ron stood there.
"You'd get bitten or worse for zero odds," Hermione said, "That's my definition of a bad idea."
Ron gripped the chair backs.
"Besides," Hermione said, "Gotta be around to see if Skeeter's successful."
Ron read the next article.
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Reflections
by Rita Skeeter
Yours truly is a reporter with a thirst for controversial stories, most note worthy of these has been the publishing of the last week. Many have taken issue with my coverage on Potter's story and how he does not feel that he is slipping into the Dark Arts; while you may disagree with his position, the possible consequences should he be right are too grave to be ignored. Judge for yourself whether you feel he is being framed at every step, or he is merely making an excuse for his actions.
Yours truly dared to report the tale you deserve and have been demanding to know. What is uncalled for is the accusations and dirt now being thrown; the breaking and entering into dwellings to frame by planting various suspicious items; this includes my suspension from The Daily Prophet.
"It might work," Ron said.
"Her weapon is a quill," Hermione said.
Ron turned, went for the kitchen.
"Not getting ready to hold Harry on an empty stomach," Ron said.
Ron turned on the burner beneath the frying pan, bent down to sort through the refrigerator, and threw bacon down into the pan. Sizzling began, and his stomach growled as he smelled the cooking flesh.
"Think Harry's okay?" Hermione asked.
"It'd bump everything else off the front page if he weren't," Ron said, "He's fine—at least until he reads that paper."
Ron worried about the werewolf too.
Harry apparated into 66 Pickering Place that Sunday afternoon, he bumped backward against Ron in the kitchen. Gia stumbled, and Harry caught her.
"Transatlantic!" Harry exclaimed.
"Wasn't her ring a Portkey?" Ron asked.
"Didn't have time," Harry said, "Even mine would've been too slow."
Harry turned, glanced at Ron stirring in the bowl, the chocolate chips in the dough.
"Chocolate chip cookies?" Harry said, "Aunt Petunia made those for Dudley, he always needed a reward for being fat."
"Some fat isn't evil," Ron said.
"Dudley swims in it," Harry said.
"Where?" Hermione whispered.
Harry turned, Gia and Hermione at the dining table, the papers stacked on it.
"Let them gossip," Ron said, "Go upstairs, so they can talk about your back."
Hoot!
Hedwig on the perch by the window, Harry went over to her. He stroked her feathers, she jumped and her talons rested on his shoulder.
"Weren't able to finish breakfast," Gia said, "He ate more than me."
"It was breakfast," Harry said.
"A whole steak," Gia said.
"Really?" Ron asked.
"Why's everybody so fussy?" Harry grumbled.
"You've got us worried," Ron said, "In fact…" Ron came over, carried the bowl, and handed it over. "You get to clean it."
Harry held the bowl, the cookie dough that remained, a spoon and a spatula that laid loose.
"Or eat a dozen when they come out," Ron said.
A glance to the blue eyes, a hint to the distraction. Harry glanced to the table, where Hermione had the paper and a letter buried by homework. Harry put the bowl down on the table.
"School's tomorrow," Hermione said, "Sure you've got your essay's done?"
Harry reached for The Daily Prophet and read into it. He summoned the letter, the handwriting, read Sirius' letter.
"DON'T!" Ron snapped.
Hedwig went back to the perch. Harry moved into the living room.
"HARRY!" Ron said, "That happened yesterday! I doubt Sirius or Lupin loitered."
"Alright…alright!" Harry lied.
A flick of the hand, his broom hovered.
"NO!" Hermione snapped.
Harry jumped, applied the invisibility as he disapparated with the broom. Harry apparated over the inlet, a boat below with its navigation lights on over the deepening evening. Canary yellow along the shore, black, and some bottle green mixed into groups.
"He's HERE!" came a shout.
Harry flew fast past the cliff with the rubble pile, the timbers and brick in ruin. Curses began to rain past, and Harry pulled the fast U–turn. A tendril from a rip of light above began to approach. Harry wrenched, went around, and out flew it. A bit aimless, he flew past Cardiff over the Bristol Channel, over the Exmoor National Park in Devon. To the Dartmoor, Harry spotted the cemetery of St. Ottery, Catchpole, and landed.
Weasley
Harry went to the marker, more than one grave to ones Harry never met. Still, the grave of Mrs. Weasley.
"Ron's doing good," Harry said, "He's definitely trying to be good."
Harry conjured up a rose, set it on the grave. Harry mounted his broom, flew it over to where the Burrow had been. Foundation still in the ground, otherwise cleared of all markings to the family, one who'd sacrificed a lot so far, and the war was only heating up.
Date: Thu Jan 4 09:53:35 2024