Chapter 36: Preparations
Sunday 16th April 1995.
Sirius surged into the library, face sullen and concerned enough to quickly draw every eye, though Hermione had clocked his face the moment he had arrived.
"We might have a problem." He said, holding aloft the Easter copy of the Daily Prophet, which once more bore a large picture of Harry on the front page.
This time, however, it wasn't a simple candid shot from amidst a crowd, or a flattering image of the daring saviour back to protect the world from new threats. This was clearly meant to be inflammatory in nature, and matched the headline Hermione could see above the image; What is Potter hiding?
Anger immediately began to build in her chest and before anyone could speak, Hermione snapped her fingers and the paper was in her hand. Drawing a complaint from Sirius in the process.
The picture of Harry, she now noticed, wasn't actually a photograph at all, but an artist's rendering that was incredibly lifelike in nature, if one didn't know Harry Potter in the slightest. His eyes were wrong in nearly every way, and the look in them made Hermione's stomach crawl with the wrongness of it.
Thankfully, the awful image took up the top portion of the page almost completely, so Hermione quickly folded the paper in half, ignoring the foul image and focusing on the words underneath instead.
"After a period of silence, your intrepid reporter returns with a special report so important it warranted the bump of the usual Easter festivities. In my short absence, dear readers, I have been researching the life of the supposed Boy-Who-Lived during the years in which he remained unaccounted for.
"A winding trail it has taken me on, through countless records in the depths of the Ministry, but I was amazed at what was found. Or more importantly, what was not.
"For months now, the youngest Potter has been back in the public eye, and yet not once has he come forward to tell his story. We are left to assume that the published works, clearly an effort of the boy's own imaginations, are the truth by which we must judge him."
Hermione glanced up at Harry with a raised eyebrow and he simply shrugged in return as she leant back down and continued reading aloud. "While the author has never been officially unveiled, my investigation leads me to conclude the boy in question made the most of weary hearts after the atrocities of the war and decided to cash in on the mystery of it all.
"In attempting to get the full story, I sought to track Potter down to the even more mysterious location in which he has secreted himself for all these years, and to which he vanished once more after the events of the Triwizard Tournament's Second Task. A task in which the once lauded champion was the apparent cause of untold damages to the innocent and already oppressed merfolk of the Black Lake.
"Is it any wonder that the teen has disappeared from the public view once more after such a destructive display? It was in my efforts that I found myself cast away by dangerous and despicable wards of a highly concerning nature. If innocent bystanders are to be subjected to such treatment, and the Boy-Who-Lived treats those he considers inferior in such a manner, should we really be looking to him as a saviour?"
"Boy, she's really gone off you now, Harry," Remus said with a smirk.
Harry shrugged again. "At least now we know who bounced off the wards a week ago. Rita Skeeter is an animagus. Which, given her name does not appear on the registration list at the Ministry, we can assume is an illegal form. And has to be quite small in order for her to have gotten close enough to ride us into the wards without either one of us, or the three we were talking to, having noticed her at all."
Hermione nodded as she considered the idea for a moment before her eyes fell once more on the derogatory article. "I am certain that the Ministry will want to investigate the nature of these wards and how Potter continues to retreat behind them whenever public perception begins to turn away from his favour. I can assure you all that I will continue to investigate these issues until the truth is brought to light."
Hermione lowered the paper and cast her eyes over the family gathered in the portrait and room around her. The Potters seemed slightly concerned at the article and were whispering amongst themselves with the exception of James who was watching his son closely. But Harry's eye was on his godfather who it seemed had not read the article before rushing into the room concerned.
The once solemn face he had worn upon arrival was beginning to crack and Hermione now noticed that Harry was slowly counting under his breath, stopping the moment that the man-child cracked and laughter filled the air. Every eye turned to watch Sirius cackling with laughter before switching to Harry to see if he was concerned at Sirius's response.
Harry turned to Hermione and with a wry smile, he spoke. "A whole eight seconds. I'm impressed."
Hermione returned the smile and turned back to the others. "She seems a vindictive sort."
"Very much so. Rita has always been sensational as an author. She runs on infamy." Remus explained. "If she is not on the front page, she is having a bad day in her view. The trouble is that her articles always contain enough of the truth to stand up to mild checking. So the public tends to believe her when she spins a barrel of lies or conjecture amongst them as well. This could be a problem."
"It's only a problem if anyone tries hurting my family again," Harry growled and Hermione noticed the elves had joined the group at some point during her reading, though none appeared to be harried or showed evidence of dealing with another onslaught of hate mail directed at them. But that could be due to them receiving this article sooner than the previous one.
"You needn't worry about that happening ever again," Remus said with a gleeful smile.
"What did you do?" Hermione asked, leaning forward at the look on the Marauder's face.
"People greatly underestimate the utility of a house-elf. Their ability to recognize and trace magic is quite astounding."
"You sent them after the people who sent all the nasty letters?"
"Not at all. We just had them identify them." Remus replied, with a smile that never boded well.
"Then we sorted them into groups of severity." Sirius added, "And Moony, Prongs and I decided on a worthy reply. The nice ones got a thank you, and some even got a few of the rarer flowers from the gardens here. The others varied from simple itching powder that Moony perfected in our fourth year to undiluted Malaclaw venom on a biting envelope for the foul bastard who tried to send Hermione undiluted bubotuber pus."
"I checked in on our favourite the other week. According to the neighbours, he hasn't been seen outside in months."
"What on earth did you do to that one?" Hermione asked, slightly appalled, but also thankful that Harry's family would go to such lengths for her.
"He is extremely superstitious. So…" Remus offered up and it was Harry who caught the dangling thread.
"You didn't, did you?" The boy asked, and Hermione looked at him confused. "Right, we skipped divination in our proper studies. I only know of this from researching their forms while we were considering giving the process a try. Sirius Black has an animagus form that is a large, very large, black dog. There is another such dog in folk legend."
"The GRIMM!" Sirius growled, really rolling the R and extending the M out until it devolved into a chuckle.
"And by that reaction, Sirius almost certainly went to visit this person in his form. Just how theatrical did you make it?"
"Oh, we gave it the full works," Remus explained with glee. "Waited for the new moon to make sure Padfoot was as menacing as possible. Conjured up a mist to drift out through the trees. Waited until three in the morning before we made a racket on his back porch. Sod came shaking out of the back door, wand first. Gave a meek shout of 'Who's there' before Sirius leapt out from the rafters of the porch."
Sirius was on his side on the floor laughing at the memory now, and Hermione was stunned at the lengths the pair had gone to for one single punishment. "What did he do?" She asked, concerned that the wizard had attacked Sirius, though his present hysterical state seemed to indicate he had not.
Remus gave a slightly evil smile before he continued. "Oh, he promptly shat himself. The whole load, right then and there in his pyjamas, and all Padfoot had done was growl. Dropped his wand from his quivering hand, and managed to break it himself as he rushed back into the house, slamming the door behind him. Sirius sat at the back door for about half an hour, scratching at it to really sell the bit. Then we got bored and came home."
"You don't think that was a bit much?" Hermione asked.
Sirius sobered up rather quickly at that comment and turned to face her. "You didn't see what he wrote to a fifteen-year-old girl."
Hermione shuddered and decided she never wanted to know. Harry quickly snuggled her tight against him and she welcomed the warmth as his magic enveloped her tightly.
"Let's just say he well-earned such a reward." Remus half-growled as well and the mood in the room lost the jovial tinge it'd had moments beforehand.
The heavy silence remained in the air for several long minutes before being broken by an unusual sort. Hedwig soared in through the open doorway and landed deftly on the back of the chair Harry and Hermione were once again sharing. But oddest of all was the letter clutched in her left talon.
Hermione could count the number of letters Harry's other favourite lady had brought him in the past five years on her left hand alone, and one of them had brought him such terror he'd run and hidden in his bedroom until his friends had dragged him out to deal with it.
Harry reached for the letter, pausing for a moment before he actually took hold of it and Hedwig let go, fluttering down to settle on Harry's lap. The boy idly reached out and began to gently scratch her favourite spot, just between the feathers on her back, between her wing joints.
Harry stared past the latter into his owl's bright yellow eyes and seemed to communicate with Hedwig without words.
"You're sure?" He asked aloud and Hermione couldn't help the smile that spread on her face as she watched them. Harry adored Hedwig, despite her never really getting much chance to be a post-owl. But even she could see the reply here. Hedwig was assuring Harry that this letter was safe.
He gave a soft sigh before he dug his finger into the seam and popped it open. Unfurling the parchment within, he started to read the handwritten note within and his face moved through several different emotions before Hermione gave him a gentle prod in the side.
"What?" He asked, looking away from the letter for the first time. "Sorry. It's… here, I'll read it aloud."
He shifted back in the chair and Hermione allowed him to snuggle tighter against her, wrapping one arm about his shoulders as he settled in to read.
"Dear Mr Potter,
"My name is Edward Markbourne and you will certainly not remember me, I am sure, as you couldn't have been more than a few weeks old at the time.
"I am a father of two wonderful girls who have filled the last twenty years of my life with joy. Why I tell you this is because I only still have them both thanks to the valiant efforts of your parents, James and Lily. They probably won't recall me either, we only met a grand total of twice, but both times left an impression on me.
"Both times involved them, and the other members of the Order of the Phoenix, saving my life from attack during the awful war of the 70s. During the second such event, you and my daughters were both present. It was a horrible experience as they attacked a muggle shopping centre my late wife loved to frequent. And it was there that my dearest wife died at the hands of those monsters.
"Not a day goes by that I don't miss her terribly, but I am forever thankful that your parents managed to not only avenge her death, but protect my girls when I myself could not.
"And it is that which leads to my letter today. I have considered writing this several times, but could never find the words. However, Thomas at Obscurus has told me that Rita Skeeter has been sniffing around the past week, asking questions about a series that I authored under an alias. And that never bodes well for innocent folk. So here I am, explaining myself to you at long last and hoping you can forgive my actions.
"After Rachel died, the girls were distraught. They spent many a night waking from terrible nightmares of masked figures taking them from their beds, or worse. I tried many things to help them settle back to sleep, but nothing ever seemed enough to do the trick. Even the end of the war wasn't enough to settle the two, but it did bring a story to my ears in a pub one evening.
"While out with my best friend drinking after a particularly rough Halloween, we had the chance to overhear a rather drunk Rubeus Hagrid telling all about the attack on the Potter home. If you have met the man, I am sure you can understand he meant no disrespect or harm by it. Hagrid is a man who wears his heart on his sleeve, and it was broken that night. The only ray of light in his dark tale was the lack of a body of the child of the Potters. Something most of us thought nothing of at the time.
"It wasn't until three days later, when my youngest, Rebecca, woke from another horrible nightmare that my mind made a decision. And so I told her a tale. A Tale of the Boy-Who-Lived. A child so powerful and so good that in his crib he had defeated the darkest wizard this country has seen in centuries. Of how he protected the small and the weak from those evildoers who might seek to harm her. It was you, and only you that managed to chase away the terrors that haunted my daughters in the middle of the night.
"And so, that became a ritual in our home. I would tuck in my two girls and tell them a story of what the Boy-Who-Lived was up to. How he was keeping the world at large, and them specifically, safe. Thomas heard the stories a few times and he begged me to write a few of them down. Said they were magnificent and would sell like mad.
"Having just lost my job, the money spoke louder than my conscience and I agreed. And now, here we are. A decade later people are still reading them, still drawing comfort from the stories of the hero of the wizarding world. And without once ever considering what these stories might mean to you.
"Rebecca is at Hogwarts now. In her final year. She tells me that she hasn't spoken with you directly, she's too afraid of what you might say to her. But she has told me that from what she has seen you are a truly good person, and that you voiced your dislike of the books on your very first night in the castle. For that, I apologise unreservedly. As you can hopefully see, they were never meant to harm anyone, but to bring hope and comfort to those who had been so long without it.
"I hope you can forgive me for my transgression. I have arranged a meeting with Thomas and another much more trustworthy journalist for Tuesday morning. We shall reveal my role in the books and hopefully head off any efforts by Rita to defame you using them, as I am sure she will try. And I thank you for whatever it was that you and your family did to rid the world of the evil of You-Know-Who and his cadre of sycophants.
"Sincerely, Edward."
Harry leant back as he finished reading and the room was quiet as everyone digested the story they had just heard. Hermione, however, focused only on Harry.
She knew he did not much care for the books. The idea he was out slaying dragons when all he wanted was a normal life didn't thrill him. And she had recently discovered that the fact the damsel in each case was never enough like her was another nail in the coffin for his thoughts on the topic.
She blushed lightly as she recalled the night he had confessed that fact to her only a short few months earlier. That 'Hermione Granger was the only damsel Harry cared to rescue, and most of the time she was strong enough to get herself out of trouble and sit there waiting for him to arrive'. She had soundly snogged him that night.
"Harry?" She whispered softly, watching his face and trying to discern his reaction to the letter.
"I guess I can understand where he was coming from. I can't begrudge someone for wanting to lessen nightmares." He said, looking at her in return with a sly smirk. "We should not have watched that show."
"But if we had not, I'd have not learned about magic until Professor McGonagall arrived."
"HA!" James yelled, loudly from his place in the painting, staring down at the snuggled pair. "As if."
Hermione looked at him curiously, unsure of what he meant. The Professor had arrived the day after her letter and had certainly been the first magical person she recalled ever intentionally telling her about magic as though it were their job.
"What Prongs is trying to say, Hermione, is that Harry would definitely not have been able to keep that secret much longer. He already used his own magic to bring you here, what was it? Two months earlier?" Remus explained.
"Knowing Harry as we all do, he would have spilt the entire secret to you well before your ninth birthday, sweetheart." Lily finished. "We'd have been mad at him for it without you showing signs of magic first, but he'd have done it for you."
Harry was bright red by the time his family finished explaining just how bad he was at keeping secrets from her, but Hermione smiled and gently kissed his cheek. "I'm glad he doesn't keep important things from me."
"You deserved to know," Harry mumbled and she smiled even further.
"So, you don't hold any ill will towards him then?" She asked softly.
Harry shook his head. "There are still a few horrible things in my own memory I wish I had a way to dispose of. That day in the bank, you floating underwater tied to that statue, and the night…" Harry trailed off, but everyone in the room knew he was referring to the night his parents died.
Hermione held him closer, allowing him a moment to gather himself once more. "We should send a reply." She whispered and he nodded once more.
"I'll write one later. I don't want to move at the moment." Harry said and snuggled against her tighter, something Hermione was more than happy to allow him to do as the adults in the room discussed matters amongst themselves. Life had settled back into a normal rhythm and with the progress they were making with the goblins, they would soon be safe enough to re-emerge into the world.
Something she looked forward to more than she thought she would only a few short months ago.
ϟ
Monday, 17th April 1995.
A knock at the door drew Albus's attention away from the three-eights of a letter he had been drafting for the third time.
It was unusual for the paintings not to warn him of an approaching visitor, but not unheard of. A quick glance showed them all to at least be pretending to sleep in their frames.
"Come in." He said softly.
The door swung inwards and the overly excitable figure of Ludo Bagman stepped inside, leaving the door open behind him. Albus scrapped his letter as the man approached, the paper curling up into nothing before the other man even reached the desk.
"Afternoon, Dumbledore. The particulars of the Final Task." Ludo said brightly, handing over the rest of the paperwork Albus had requested after the Second Task. "It's been a nightmare making the needed changes, but… here we are."
Ludo took a seat opposite him and began to gaze around the room silently, much like most of the young children who were sent to the Headmaster's Office did when they arrived. It was a sight like no other and had been since long before Albus had been a student of this school.
He ignored the other man for a moment as he began reading through the documents in detail. All dark creatures had been removed from the listings, as had any of class XXXX or higher. Though Albus doubted they would manage to get the lower listed nuisance creatures from the other countries required, given the sorry state of Britain in the eyes of the global community after the farce in February.
"Thank you, Ludo. I'll be having the rest of the staff look over these enchantments to ensure they find them to be up to standard."
"Now, come on, Dumbledore…" The other man began to argue before Albus cut him off.
"Ludo. I will not be moved on this. The safety of the Champions is the only priority at this stage. It has been four hundred years since all three Champions have made it physically unharmed to the final task of the event. We will not allow ourselves to fail now, will we?" He asked rhetorically.
Ludo sagged, unable to meet his eye, and Albus shook his head imperceptibly, worried at how much the man seemed eager to have the added danger in the events. Would likely have made for better odds.
How Ludo had managed to make it all the way to becoming Department Head with his known gambling issues was too much for Albus to try and discern right now.
"Give me the week and I shall have your answer," Albus said, leaning back in his chair. He noticed that Ludo was rather twitchy today, not that he hadn't been for years. He was a man who wished he could be back up in the air on a broom rather than attending boring meetings and arranging the games.
"Very good. We've already set about growing the hedges. There is one slight tweak we made, it's in the notes there. These ones can rearrange and shift. But," He sighed as though this part was a major imposition, "they cannot attack the Champions anymore. So they've come down to a navigational challenge only."
"Very good," Albus said, mirroring Ludo's earlier statement. "Was there anything else, Ludo?"
For the first time in the meeting, Ludo met his gaze and the pair shared a silent moment before the other shook his head. "No. We're ready to proceed with the setup once you give the go-ahead. I assume you will be sharing all of this information with the other Heads."
Albus suppressed the slight grin that wanted to form at Ludo's eagerness to allow someone else to take some of his workload off his hands. "Indeed, I will personally inform them of the changes. We need their approval as well, after all."
Ludo sagged at the reminder that the Ministry was now basically in charge of the event in name alone. "Right, right. Well, I'll leave you to it. Plenty to do after all. Preparations to make." Ludo said, standing and spinning about.
"Have a nice day, Ludo," Albus said as the other man passed out the door, swinging it closed behind him.
Albus gave a heavy sigh and swung his eyes over the paintings on the wall once more, noting a lot more partially closed eyes and fake snores than before the meeting. It was a struggle at times living with walls covered in old gossips. While they could not break the confidence of the Office of the Headmaster, they sure loved having a good chat amongst themselves whenever he wasn't looking.
He looked back down at the pile of paperwork and sighed. This would have to take precedence for the time being.
The immediate safety of all the Champions took priority over the long-term safety of one who had already proven extremely capable in his own right.
ϟ
Wednesday, 17th May 1995.
Draco sat back on the bench at the Slytherin table, casting his eye over the Hall and the many chattering and eating children.
The constant noise of the room irritated him to no end. He wished that he could curse a few of them and get them to shut up. Especially the stupid mudbloods, but the changed rules after his first year had greatly curtailed his efforts to teach those filthy fools a lesson or two about the state of things.
His eyes drifted to the Teachers' table where the man responsible for the change sat watching the school like a ruler observing his kingdom.
He hated Dumbledore with a passion, as the man had been personally responsible for confiscating an item Draco's father had entrusted to him in his first year. When he'd informed his father that it had been taken before Draco could even settle into his dormitory, his father had been most displeased. He had been meant to slip it to some undeserving mudblood and watch the excitement. Instead, it was gone for good.
And yet, this year, father had been quiet. Told Draco to be watchful but make no moves of his own. Even the most mundane of ideas was to be run past his father before he would be told not to do it as things were far too precarious right now for such behaviour.
Draco bristled at the unfairness of it all. His entire life he'd been told how much better he was than others. How his pure lineage made him superior, and he had proven it time and again. Anyone who crossed him soon learned the price of such impudence.
And yet, now his father had leashed his ability to show their visitors just how superior they were here in Britain. Especially that animal the French had brought along as their Champion.
His anger rose as thinking of Delacour reminded Draco that the stupid Goblet had picked his own disgusting cousin as Champion of his own school. Not only was she a pathetic half-blood child of a mudblood, but she was also the daughter of someone who had been cast out of the family by his great-aunt Walburga.
Draco had really been hoping that the damned blue dragon would sink its teeth into the fool and remove that stain from his family for good.
Instead, she had made it through both tasks so far unscathed. All four of them had. This Tournament was supposed to be dangerous, that was why he had been forbidden from entering by both his father and the rules.
Not that he'd have let the rules keep him from trying. He had already begun planning ways to get his name into the Goblet when his father had messaged him and forbade him to even try.
So now he had to watch as the disgrace of the family got all the attention.
In fact, such was becoming the norm for the Malfoys in the past few years. The disgust he felt at being reminded of the insult he'd received only a few weeks before first attending this place still rankled in his stomach. How had great great uncle Arcturus made such a wildly stupid decision?
Black was a blood traitor of the worst sort. A convicted criminal, not that Draco really minded that part, but still he should not have even been in the running for the Headship of the family. A headship that was Draco's very birthright, as he had often been reminded through the years.
His attention was drawn from his brooding by McGonagall briskly walking down the middle of the hall and up to the front table. The woman had been annoyingly cheery all day and Draco wanted nothing more than to see her day ruined.
However, it would be his own that would be further worsened as the noise of the students skyrocketed and his eyes were drawn from the Deputy Headmistress back to the front of the Hall.
Instead of something to brighten his day, the only thing that could further ruin it walked in, to be immediately grasped by his cousin in a pitiful display of 'family'.
Potter had returned.
Like most, he had been curious to meet the so-called Hero of the Wizarding World. He knew the stories of the Dark Lord and his quest to cure Britain of its diseases, and yet the boy being harried by the Puffs right now had supposedly defeated the man as naught but a child.
Of course, Draco knew this to be nonsense. No child would defeat a fully grown wizard, especially not a half-blood with a mudblood for a mother.
But curiosity was a strong emotion. Only made worse by his father's strict instructions to stay away from his cousin. It irked Draco that so many of his cousins were polluted by filthy blood, and two of the worst offenders were now being celebrated as Triwizard Champions.
As the three settled back into place at their house table and the noise died down slightly, Draco considered the group.
Potter, of course, was central to it, most hanging over one another trying to speak with him. On his left as usual was his other cousin, far too cheery at the fact Potter was back in the school, a sentiment shared by so many of the sycophants seated around him. And lastly, as ever, was the mudblood at his right hand.
Had Draco ever considered disobeying his father's instructions to stay away from Potter, this would have put an end to them for good.
It wasn't bad enough that Potter's father had sullied a long and pure line by marrying a mudblood, but the boy associated nearly constantly with this nagging little nuisance of one as well. He heard the stories from others about her supposed magical prowess, but Draco knew they were the over-exaggerated rumours of children.
Everything around the supposed Boy-Who-Lived was exceptional and overblown. Of course, the person he chose to date, a thought that nearly brought up Draco's dinner, would be 'just as powerful as he was'.
Draco looked at Crabbe, seated at his own right hand and how the idiot was still scarfing down food. Draco scowled at the sight and slapped the fool on the back of the head, drawing a confused glance from the idiot with a tart half shoved in his mouth.
"Get up. We're leaving." Draco said, indicating for Goyle at his left to stand as well.
The two followed his movement and Draco ignored the stares of his fellow housemates as he serenely walked to the end of the Hall, ensuring he didn't waste another glance in the direction of the duffers and their ridiculous 'Champions'.
Whatever his father was involved in, Draco would be requesting he be allowed to be involved. This could not be allowed to continue.
Muggle lovers and blood traitors being celebrated all over the school was really beginning to irritate him, and Draco found his wand arm twitching at the idea of showing them their proper place.