Chapter 9. quidditch, patroni, and newspapers
Goldcrest perch, August 19th 1994
Harry Potter was confused, no, absolutely lost. In fact, no words could describe his total cluelessness after… well, everything since the beginning of previous July. First, Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban, but in less than a month got himself a trial and was found to be innocent. Peter Pettigrew, real traitor and murderer of at least 12 bystanders, was sentenced to death. Then September came, bringing with it a whole lot of changes no one expected. Sirius' house elf Alexa (from where on earth did he pull that name?) got a job as a caretaker at Hogwarts, Hagrid started looking like a decent professor, Drako Malfoy left the Gryffindors alone… strange and unexplainable things kept happening all throughout the year, including Christmas break (seeing elves carve dragons and gryffins from ice in the courtyard, or hearing them sing in the kitchens, was outlandish even for wizarding standards). Spring came and went, and in June Sirius invited Harry to his brothers house for the summer. There, he underwent the most grueling yet most enjoyable training programme with the real unspeakable, got freed from his Voldemort-filled nightmares, and organized a trip to the Quidditch world cup final. Shortly speaking, it was the most enjoyable year and summer he had ever experienced.
That is, til something went astray.
Everything started a week before the game. For some reason, Sirius and Regulus started talking in hushed voices, every now and then including Alexa in their plotting (it couldn't be anything else, could it?) then they dropped Harry at the Weasleys and left for dartmoor alongside preparation and security crew. Even the elf, so persistent on tailing him everywhere, decided to travel to the campsight two days early. Maybe all three of them were responsible for the security of the event, maybe just assisted in putting last touches on the stadium, but such a haste was outright suspitious. Fortunately, getting lost in the sea of Weasleys shoved all the suspitions aside, but only til the game…
To say that Harry didn't like Quidditch of such a professional level would be just as untrue as stating that the sun rises in the west. Athletes weaving through the air at breakneck speeds reminded him of his own training, be it over the relatively safe sea. with no preference of which team to support, despite of redheaded gang's incredulous looks, he cheered every goal and trick, replaying some of them in his omnioculars. When Victor Krum, the Bulgarian wonder seeker, caught the snitch after three hour struggle, he descended into shouting, whistling and handshaking chaos with everyone too close to be left alone, what basically meant the sea of Weasleys.
Then different kind of chaos struck the camp, vanishing all the fun.
Even after the good night's sleep (as much as it was possible after such a shock) Harry could not but shake his head in confusion. how could everything slip out of control so quickly, then calm down as instantly? One moment, wizards in black robes and white masks strut around causing panic, the dark mark hovering in their wake; then an army of patroni rise into the sky and tear the horrible image apart. People in grey cloaks show up, and with shouts of "damn it! the unspeakables!" and "leg it!" black-robed figures try to aperate away, only to be roughly stopped by wards and aurors. apparently, as Harry could overhear before being whisked away by Alexa, something wasn't quite right about that little death eater (really, that's how these black robe enthusiasts are called?) reappearance party. By morning, even the Daily prophet, that excuse of a newspaper, according to Sirius, was singing praises of the unspeakables and aurors, all the while discrediting the game organisers in every way possible. Yet one small paragraph caught Harry's attention like nothing else: "Sirius Black, the first ever wielder of a double patronus, destroys the dark mark…"
Marcus sat in the kitchen, alone with his own thoughts. Alexa was tending to another elf they found while scouring the campsight, and Regulus had been called to an emergency meeting of his department. Now that his double identity was revealed in the least suttle way possible, he would have no peace even in the safety of Goldcrest perch. He so wanted to strangle whoever blirted his secret out for all of Britain. The only thing he saught was changing the past for the better, not fame and glory. The only goal he had was returning to his time peacefully, not being dissected like a frog by unspeakables or, Merlin forbid, dubbed dangerous or getting a job offer from the aurors.
"is it true?" – the question caught Marcus by surprise. Harry Potter stood in the doorway, pointing at a small headline of the Prophet, the same dreadful headline he was furious about. "what to say, damn it, what to say?" – the wizard panicked. The boy had probably seen his double patronus once, and denying it was out of question. Admitting the truth meant blowing his cover, and possibly destroying the boy's trust. Finally the wizard decided to go on with his fored story, which had helped get out of so many sticky situations:
"yes, it's all true. My patronus is double, but you already know it. Azkaban, or anything horrible, depressing or otherwise life-changing can do it sometimes. And no, I didn't know it til the morning you… well, had that dream…" he hesitated a moment, letting Harry chime in: "but what about yesterday? How did you… well, I don't want to know, but how did whoever wrote this, find out?" and so the second time since his unfortunate adventure, Marcus told his tale, hiding nothing except his double personality. How he lived in hiding, how Peter Pettigrew was caught, how four letters and a house elf employed at Hogwarts set a chain of changes – everything swirled and pooled and flooded the impermeable kitchen, like it had Regulus' office last year. Except that this time, rage for nosy journalists joined the worlwind of emotions, making all the revelations irrelevant. One little mistake while saving others lead to becoming an unwilling subject of many discussions and speculations throughout Britain, and even more unwilling cause of confusion for the only person that mattered. To top it all, Marcus Longhurst had no answers to most of Harry's questions, or even if he had, these answers would surely only cause more confusion. maybe Alexa or Regulus, or Anna Maria (his future mother, the wizard had to remind himself) could shed more light on this for Harry, but for the time being he had to be content with what he learned. Maybe next time Marcus Longhurst would bring himself to revealing his true identity, but not now, when Brittish wizarding rumor mill was without a doubt working overdue to try and solve the mystery their newspaper thrust on them. Yes, Harry potter might be confused, and the double-minded wizard could feel that without asking, but it had to remain that way for the near future. Even if it meant avoiding Quidditch, patroni and newspapers, for the fear of being discovered before the unspeakables find a way to return him to his own time.