𝕸𝖔𝖓𝖔𝖈𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖊

Act I - The Trials of Summer

Chapter 33 - The Birthday Party Part 4

The party was in full swing.

After his stirring (clumsy, in Harry's opinion) speech, Sirius and Andi had led the guests to the food tables. It was brilliant in one respect, and utterly awkward in another. Sirius had taken the top of the table on one end, with Andi and Nymphadora on either side. He had shafted Harry to the other end of the long table, diametrically opposite him, with Fleur on one side, and Daphne on the other, with her sister and father further along. Hermione had gotten a seat next to Fleur, followed by Ron, Ginny and everyone else. Most of the guests had occupied seats in the middle. He had ignored the looks Hermione kept shooting at him through the lunch, knowing that the inquisitive girl wouldn't get a breath until she had grilled him about his recent and surprising association with Fleur and the Greengrass family.

He ignored the scowl that Malfoy wore on his mouth, shooting dirty looks at having to sit at the same table as the Weasleys, while his mother openly chatted, or dare he say it, flirted with Rufus Scrimgeour. Thankfully, Cornelius Fudge was present to keep the little Malfoy company, probably drawing on his decade of experience kowtowing before the elder Malfoy. Alicia was blushing, as Angelina kept mentioning about how she'd be short of her Chaser in her final year, while Oliver Wood, current Keeper of the Falmouth Falcons, was enthusiastic about having his old teammate with him. Joshua was busy discussing potential business opportunities with Lord Burke and Augusta Longbottom.

After lunch was over, the guests were all making their way back to the formal parlour for leaving. Ron had slipped in a chance to demand what Malfoy was doing at the party. Harry had explained that he was there as a Black, through his mother, Narcissa. Like it or not, being the Heir Black meant getting stuck with them as well. Ron hadn't looked happy, but by Merlin's grace, Augusta Longbottom had come in right then, offering him to join Neville on classes for estate management, especially with him having taken up his Lord mantle. Harry had gratefully thanked her, but told her he couldn't give her his word without consulting his godfather on the matter.

But the biggest surprise of them all had been Madam Bones's surprise guest. The man had apparently arrived during the feast, and was waiting to meet him as soon as the feast was over.

"Uh," Harry said, "If you wouldn't mind, could we talk after I see the guests off?"

"Trust me, Mr. Potter," the man said, "it won't take any time at all."

Frowning, Harry walked with them towards the relatively empty space in the southern end of the room, with the enormous grandfather clock standing next to them.

"I'm glad to finally meet you, Mr. Potter," said the man with well-maintained greying hair, and a neatly trimmed beard. His dark eyes worked well with his impressive moustache, adding weight to his gaze where his stature failed. "I've been looking forward to meeting you for a very long time. Especially after your successful round trip during your third year."

Harry narrowed his eyes. Round Trip? Third Year? Surely this man couldn't be referring to—

"Lord Potter," Madam Bones said formally, "allow me to introduce Saul Croaker, Voice of the Unspeakables. Head of the Department of Mysteries."

Whatever words he was about to say died in his throat. The Department of Mysteries? He had come across the name and the term 'Unspeakable' during his DMLE interrogation. Upon asking, Sirius had revealed that the Unspeakables were researchers that carried out confidential magical research in the department. Very little was known about them given the confidentiality and secrecy oaths under which they operated. Even the Minister of Magic had very little authority over the department's operations, to the point that the DOM could be classified as an autonomous institution in itself.

But given that this man knew about his time-travel trip, did that mean—

His jaw fell.

Absolutely. That was it. The Time-Turner was from the Department of Mysteries. No wonder Hermione couldn't talk to anyone about it. It had always bugged Harry that McGonagall would have granted Hermione the ability to play with Time, of all things, just to take extra classes. Though why the DOM would be interested in handling a Time-turner of all things to a thirteen-year-old was anybody's guess.

"Ahem, Harry—?" Madam Bones began.

"Right… my apologies!" Harry shook his head at his inner distractions. "Pleased to meet you."

"Do not be offended, Amelia," said Croaker, eyeing Harry with a spark of amusement. "He's just had a mental breakthrough."

Madam Bones rolled her eyes. "As always, perpetuating the stereotype. I'm surprised you didn't show up with your hood and cloak."

Cautiously looking around, Harry asked, "You, uh, knew about that… trip?"

Croaker laughed and raised his right hand and snapped his fingers.

It took Harry a moment to realise what he had actually done. The constant chatter among the audience that had been present since the party had begun had suddenly vanished, as if under a silencing charm. He looked around and…

Froze.

It wasn't a silencing charm.

It was the entire room, which had frozen in place.

Harry blinked.

Then blinked again.

Nope. Everything stayed the way it was, as if under a wide-area Immobulus spell. He instantly turned around, about to question why the man had used magic on everyone without permission. Even with the DMLE Director present and vouching for him, there were some lines one could not cross as a guest in another house.

"Do not fret, Harry Potter. It is not an Immobulus, although the effect looks remarkably similar. No, I trapped us in a temporal embolism. It is a rather difficult effect to maintain for very long, but fortunately, I'm quite skilled at it. Within this room, we are standing between tick and tock. The world outside this room sits perfectly still, and we have some time to ourselves to answer whatever questions you have, assuming they are questions I can answer."

Harry stared blankly at the man who claimed to have stopped Time itself. Then he shook his head. Too much weirdness had happened to him this summer to reject anything as impossible now. His eyes went to the enormous grandfather clock on his right, and found that the ticking of the cloak had ceased, with the legs stuck at the apogee of their leftward arc, frozen in mid-swing. He checked the gold wristwatch Mrs. Weasley had given him and found it working normally. He looked up in wonder at Croaker, who was smiling at him, while Madam Bones looked amused.

"The embolism stops relativistic time, so we can talk about things calmly and reasonably without having to worry about being impolite to your guests."

And so it was. Sirius was standing next to the Floo, one hand and one leg up in the air. Different visitors were stuck in different poses. Bloody hell, Augusta Longbottom was stuck in the middle of Floo travel, with half of her body disappeared within the green flames while the other half—

Harry swallowed and turned back to the man.

"I will be candid, Mr. Potter. We have had our eye on you for a long time. Ever since that unfortunate incident with the Dark Lord in 1981, your name was in our books, as a Person Of Interest. You would have received an internship offer from the Department of Mysteries right after you finished your OWLs."

Harry blinked. "Me? You wanted me to intern as… an Unspeakable?"

The man's eyes glinted. "And just what exactly do you think Unspeakables do, Mr. Potter?"

"Sirius told me you research… stuff."

"Well," he shrugged. "He's not wrong."

"I've never really been the researcher-type," Harry confessed. "That was all Hermione."

"Miss Granger," Croaker nodded, "She's high on the list of our recruits. Naturally, you're requested not to talk about this to her. Not that the secrecy ward tied to this embolism will allow you to, but we'd rather not take our chances with a Vessel." He smiled again. "And you're right. You do not have the research-bent of mind. Not like Miss Granger. But not all research is academic. Some are done on the field. Direct application, if you know what I mean."

Harry was unclear, but he decided not to delve deeper. "Okay. But my fifth-year hasn't started yet, so why…?"

Croaker seemed happy with his response. "It was the standard plan. But then, you unveiled yourself as the Peverell Vessel. That, and some other things that I cannot even… think about, not before you take the oaths, but it's safe to say, the recent revelations bumped you up the queue, so to say."

Harry did a double take. "You — you want to hire me—"

"Goodness, no," said Croaker. "As you are right now, you are no help at all. To yourself or to us. But, we'd like to take an accelerated course with you. If you're interested, we're willing to put you under a… Handler, so to say, to help you train for a few things we absolutely need you to know. And then, after you're done with your OWLs, you can join the Internship program."

Harry frowned. Something about this didn't fit well with him. So he thought about the conversation he had just had; the manner through which he was introduced and the person facilitating the introduction. He thought about the casual manner in which Croaker had thrown important information at his face, and the offer he had been given. He thought about what he represented to them; what they represented, what was on the table, what wasn't, and most importantly, the manner in which the entire offer was conducted. Factoring in what he knew of the wizarding society and DOM in general…

"Mr. Croaker—"

"Call me Saul."

"... Saul, can I ask you something? Freely?"

His eyes flashed. "Certainly."

"What's the real reason?"

"Excuse me?"

"What is the real reason?" He repeated, glanced at Madam Bones who just observed him, studying him with those hawk-like eyes. "Sirius told me that the DOM is autonomous. Maybe I'm wrong, but if the Voice of the Unspeakables wants the Peverell Vessel under his influence, he gets it. Especially with the DMLE Director being on his side. So if you aren't, and you're going through all of this, getting me this… Handler, whoever that is, and yet, keeping my internship postponed until the end of the fifth year… it has to be for a reason, and no, my OWLs are not it."

"You're a celebrity, Harry," Amelia Bones replied. "It isn't as easy with you."

"Maybe," Harry admitted, "but is it the real reason?" He narrowed his eyes at the Unspeakable Head. "What is it you aren't telling me, Mr. Croaker? Is this about Voldemort? Do you think—"

"Told you," said Bones with a small snort, "he'd see through it."

Harry only held Croaker's visage in his eyes. "Well?"

The man sighed. "Our Divination department advised us not to hire you before the next Summer Solstice. We take their advice seriously."

"And that's the real reason?"

"It is as close to the truth as I can offer and you can accept," said the man. "If you're willing, we have a handler for you. And from what I can see, you're already acquainted with her."

Her?

"Nymphadora Tonks," said Bones. At Harry's questioning look, she continued, "yes, she's a junior Auror. On paper. But she is actually an Unspeakable, the kind whose research lies outside the laboratory. The DMLE, more than occasionally, needs her talents, which is why she has a 'Junior Auror' job. Again, this is a complete secret, and I'd like it to remain as such."

Harry wasn't sure what to think. Tonks was an Unspeakable? It was like no matter what happened, life kept throwing curve balls at him.

"... I see."

He didn't. He was just trying to play catchup and failing miserably.

"What… talents?" He croaked.

"A very special kind, and one you'll be exposed to soon, should you accept Saul's offer."

Harry frowned. "Honestly, Madam Bones. This isn't an offer. You can't honestly tell me I have a choice in this."

"Actually, you do," said Croaker. "And you are not wrong. What the DOM wants, the DOM gets. But you, my boy, you're rather special in that regard. The Divination Department has been quite clear on that. You may join us, or you may decide to walk away. We will not approach you again. But this I will impose on you, Mr. Potter. Whatever you decide, it has to be now."

"Now… as in, right now? I don't get to think about it?"

Croaker and Bones looked at each other.

"I assume it is not too difficult to give you a minute to think it through…."

Harry rolled his eyes. He already knew that there was no way he'd really get a choice could say no, and he'd be thinking about it for the rest of his life. And if he said yes, he'd probably have to keep it a secret from Sirius, until that official letter of internship came along. Either way, it wasn't much of a choice. He knew they had offered Tonks as his handler because they knew he'd be more comfortable around her, rather than a complete stranger.

'Fine. I'll bite," he said, "does this mean I'll have to disappoint Mr. Scrimgeour?" He quipped. "He promised me an Auror internship after my OWLs."

Amelia snorted. "Someone of your talents will find some use in the DMLE. "

"Right," said Croaker, his voice suddenly all professional. "You'll receive intimation from the Department in time. Mr. Potter. I look forward to working with you."

And then he snapped his fingers.

Immediately, the grandfather clock swung once again, and at the edge of his awareness, Harry felt time resumed its normal course. He thought for a second and then looked quizzically at Croaker—

Only to find that the man had vanished.

He blinked.

Nope. Still gone. Perplexed, he looked at Madam Bones, who looked downright amused.

"He does that," was all she had to say.

The party was over, and Harry was heading to Gringotts with Fleur, just in time for his meeting, as notified via the letter she had sent him the other day. It had taken some distractions to escape Barnabas Cuffe's attention at the end, but luckily, Sirius was there to save the day. With a half-hearted apology, he had stepped into the Floo with Fleur in tow.

As he walked beside her, he recognized they were almost the same height. No, she was just a hair taller but a lot prettier, but he was due for a growth spurt soon. Now all he needed was to grow a bit of stubble on the cheeks, and stop looking like a surprised kid. He could probably pull off ruggedly handsome. Or he liked to think he could, anyway.

It wasn't his fault. Being around Fleur Delacour was enough to make Gilderoy Lockhart self-conscious.

"That was a grand party, 'Arry," she said, softly kissing his left cheek, freezing midway and then moving away. "I enjoyed it a lot."

"Only you can call that enjoying!" Harry shuddered. "Bloody exhausting was what it was. How can any sane man go about doing it willingly?"

"Because those are the places where people that matter gather. It's where real transactions take place and relationships are formed."

Harry snorted. "Hippogriff shit! None of that is sincere. You think me talking to Fudge was real? Deception upon deception, and everyone wanting to exploit everyone else."

Yeah. One Wizengamot sitting had been enough for him. Thank you very much. He was so glad to let Sirius deal with that formal, backstabbing bullshit.

"Ah, but that's the beauty of that. The strong will always prey on the weak, 'Arry. And you showed yourself as strong the other day. That's why you've so many people flocking to you. The game is still the same, only the rules have changed."

Barbaric! Hermione would've called it.

"You truly don't understand what today was about, do you 'Arry?" Fleur asked. They had crossed the antechamber and were directly moving into the deeper premises. As Account Manager, she was allowed complete access to these areas. "You're 'Arry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Noble Lord. Celebrity. And most recently, wronged by the Ministry and yet strong enough to walk free . People want to know you. Want to be seen with you. You had the Chief Warlock, Head Auror, DMLE Director, and the freakin' Minister at your party today. Do you not see what that means?"

"That… they accepted Sirius's invitation?"

"No!" Fleur all but yelled in frustration. "Mon Dieu! You've just shown the Ministry was in the wrong, and you were right. In front of the whole Wizengamot!"

Harry wasn't sure what she was trying to say, but she was certainly getting a bit too worked up.

"They were trying to appease you! Giving you the limelight. Expecting you to demand things. Compromise. That's how things go!"

"Uh… but I… you know… didn't?"

"Exactement!" she emphasised. "You didn't. Other people would've demanded positions of power. Wealth. Prestige. Instead, you talked about family! You thanked others. Me, Monsieur Black and Greengrass and… her." He heard her pause for a slight second before moving on. "You talked about the Weasleys, about everything, but yourself!"

"And that's a… good thing?"

Fleur bit her lip. "My papa would have said no. 'E'd have leveraged this for benefits. But your guests went home happy, so you'll probably have them on your side. For now. Some people would've thought you a fool for not demanding anything from ze Ministry. Others would call you a…. 'Good boy'. And then some would think you've secret motives and call you mysterious."

"And is that a good thing?"

"Zut! Of course!" Her lips twisted in a seductive smirk. "Mysterious people are sexy."

"Ha-Ha! Seriously, fighting Dark Lords is so much better than this nonsense!"

"I thought you preferred dragons!"

"Dark Lords, dragons, death eaters, dementors.. Give me anything with a D and I'll give it my best shot."

"What about Delacour? Think you can handle that, too?"

Before Harry could reply, his eyes met hers. Fleur gave him a slow, slow smile. One that made his entire body thrum in response to her, to her presence, her proximity, to her… everything. That smile contained something within it, something conveyed to him in a flashing instant — Fleur as she would look in ecstasy beneath him, looking up at him with that lovely smile mindless with sensation. And it wasn't just visual imagery, but sensual too. He could feel it, touch, taste, sound, scent and vision, all compressed in one instant of dark inspiration.

And then it was gone.

"Come," Fleur said, the smile on her face suddenly dissipating into something melancholic. Harry broke eye contact with her and found that they were standing in front of a very familiar door.

It was time to meet Griphook.

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