AN: The title of this chapter is a little anachronistic; the television show didn't come out until 1995, three years after this story begins, but it really has nothing to do with the show at all. It's just a reference you might recognize with tangential meaning to what happens below.
.o0O0o.
Standing next to the street sign for Privet Drive, the old man looked up at the early morning sun and adjusted his bowler hat to cover one eye more fully. Some distance behind him, wishing he knew more about what that eye of Alastor's could do, Lester tapped his wand to pink fuzzy muggle slippers and waved it over the bushes in front of him so he could move silently through the undergrowth.
It would be just like the man to stick something in his skull that could see through solid walls, look in every direction at once, and fire Killing Curses when he was mad – which would make sneaking up on him nigh impossible, and deadly... though it was also like him to let you think it could do all that just to throw you off.
As the man in front of him reached into his jacket to check his watch again Lester finally moved. Stepping lively, the suburban shrubbery moving silently around his purple bathrobe, he darted forward and pegged his wand to the man's back.
"Gotcha," he said, gruffly triumphant.
As the trapped man slowly turned, his face and body started to shift and Lester knew he'd been tricked. He felt the tip of a wand in his back just before he heard his old friend speak.
"Constant vigilance," his old auror trainer said from behind him as a heart-faced girl with pink hair smiled benignly at him, completely unconcerned at the wand he had pointed at her.
"I didn't know you'd be bringing Pinky," Lichfield said, pocketing his wand as he turned to see his friend suddenly appear from beneath an invisibility cloak. "Well now, that's just cheating," he gestured to the silvery material of the cloak as Alastor stuffed it into a pocket of his tweed jacket.
"Says the man who lost," the spiky-haired girl said with a grin.
"At least you didn't trip yourself this time," Lester said with a look. "Why'd you bring her?" he asked his friend.
"The sooner I get her trained, the sooner I retire," Alastor said, plucking his bowler off Pinky's head and sticking it on his, lowering it over his artificial eye. "And where else is she going to see an old family bailiff in action?" he asked, taking out a single piece of folded paper and handing it to him.
He grunted in response as he briefly scanned the document. It was concise and by-the-book, hallmarks of Hammerhand's work, and the signatures were right at first glance – though it only gave glimmers as to how all this had gone so horribly wrong.
"So what have you got for me?" Alastor asked glancing at the pocket of his bathrobe.
Out of the pocket Lester drew a vial filled with a swirling silvery substance.
"You'll want to look into that," he said, giving the old auror the vial and pocketing the paper, "discretely."
Moody grunted and stowed the vial away for later.
"So where are we?" the girl asked, transfiguring her robes into a pair of ripped jeans and a tee-shirt, which he took to be more fitting for the environment. "And what are we doing in a muggle area anyway?"
"You didn't tell her what's going on?" Lester asked the old auror.
"They don't pay me to hold someone's hand," Moody rumbled back at him. "Let her figure it out for herself. Which one of these is it?" he asked squinting at the surrounding homes with his exposed eye.
"It's down here, number four," Lester gestured as he lead the strange procession through the unsuspecting suburb, Moody stumping along behind with a limp.
"This place is spooky," the pink-haired girl said as Lester stooped to pick up the newspaper in front of number four. "They're all exactly the same. It's not natural."
"Thought you had muggle in you," Moody said to the girl.
"Just because my dad's muggleborn doesn't mean I lived there. You could have dressed a bit more naturally though," she said, giving Lester an appraising look.
"I'll have you know my neighbor dresses just like this when he gets his paper every morning," he replied, shaking the Dursleys' newspaper at her like a wand.
The girl was in mid eye-roll when her attention snapped back to him. "What do you mean, 'just like this'?"
"Too late!" Lester said quickly, ringing the doorbell.
Alastor glanced around and moved to flank Pinky with him as footfalls approached the door. "You doing the talking?"
"Nope," Lester replied, handing the paper to the girl, "Let Pinky do it." Her eyes quickly became the size of a house-elf's.
The front door opened before the girl could respond and the horse-faced housewife looked at them all like they were door-to-door dung salesmen. Remembering the bland girl he once had the misfortune to meet, Lester could only conclude life had not been kind to Petunia Evans. If anything, she looked even more plain and uninteresting than she did before.
"Yes?" she asked, scrutinizing them closely. "What do you want?"
"Wotcher," the suddenly chipper Pinky said with a smile, "I'm Dora Tonks with the Crazy Codgers' Convalescent Cottage, and I'm here with the couple of curmudgeonly coots you signed up to babysit today."
"What are you talking about?" Petunia sneered. "I never signed up for anything. Now get out of here before I call the police," she said, starting to close the door.
Lichfield's hand darted out and slammed against the door, holding it in place.
"That didn't help when my goblin friends came for the boy's things, now did it?" he said menacingly.
If Lester had thought the woman couldn't look any worse that was before all the blood drained from her face and her mouth sagged open stupidly.
"V–V–Vernon!" Petunia cried backing into the house away from them before bolting into what he assumed was the kitchen at the back.
Gesturing to Pinky to lead the way, the suddenly wary girl dropped the paper, drew her wand, and stepped cautiously inside. After scanning the too tidy living room and muttering a few spells to detect anything nefarious, the girl turned back to him.
"What would goblins be doing here?" she asked. "These people couldn't have a magical bone in their bodies."
"You never know," Lester said nebulously, "even a blind Niffler finds something shiny every once in a while."
The door to the kitchen crashed open and an irate Erumpet of a man charged in. "What the devil are you doing here!" he cried, a little pig of a boy trailing along behind. "Get out or I swear I'll press charges!"
"Will you now?" Moody rumbled, pushing his bowler back to expose the deranged blue eye of his spinning around in its socket. "I'd like to see that."
The Dursley man stood poleaxed for a moment, but who could say how long it would last. Lester thought it prudent to produce his wand again. The bellowing man hadn't calmed with age and he doubted whether a single Stunner would be enough to take him down any more; he had to have part Troll in him somewhere.
"Why don't we sit down, Mr. Dursley, so we can talk about your nephew?" he said, gesturing for the man to make himself at home.
"The boy's not here. He's left, and good riddance, I say!" the man fumed, his mustache bristling. "We never should've taken him in."
"So why did you?" Lichfield asked, pointing his wand at the man lest he charge again.
The wands seemed to remind the man of just what type of people he was dealing with as he suddenly forced his obese son behind him and started to back into a corner.
"You can't find us!" the Dursley man cried, looking around for some means of escape. "The freak swore if we took him in you'd never be able to find us!"
"Who?" Lichfield demanded, wanting nothing more than the name to come from the spiteful man's mouth. As he continued to back himself into a corner Lester knew he wouldn't be getting anywhere this way. "Pinky–"
"It's Tonks," she corrected him exasperatingly.
"You used your real name with these people?" Lester asked reprovingly. "Go take a look at what's under those stairs," he said with a wave. "It's time we get things out in the open."
"Just where do you think you're going?" the man bellowed again, the vein on his forehead starting to throb as he watched the girl leave. "You stay away from there!" he roared, darting forward to stop her.
With a jab of Lester's wand ropes shot out wrapping themselves around the marauding man and gagging him, causing him to trip and land with a crash. A lighter crash echoed it in the hallway followed with a muffled curse; Pinky must've tripped again.
"Dad!" the piggy boy squealed, grabbing its buttocks and inching along the wall to retreat into the kitchen, where his mother was peeking through the doorway.
"What's there, Pinky?" he called, already fearing the answer. How could anyone leave an infant with these people?
"There's a little door here with a lock outside any child could open," came her response. "Why would anyone – Merlin! There's a cot in here! Ack – and spiders!" The girl came marching back in scrubbing a hand through her spiky pink hair. "Was somebody living in there?"
"Yes," Lester answered gruffly, kneeling over the fallen man and pushing his wand into the man's face. "His nephew; from the day he got here until he got his Hogwarts letter. And I want to know why," he was rather surprised to see his wand shaking a bit.
A claw of a hand found his shoulder. "Too close," Alastor said, and Lester knew the old man wasn't talking about how close he'd gotten to the foul man.
With a curt nod Lester stood, letting the older man take his place. Alastor was right, he had gotten too close to the boy not to run the risk of going too far, and in truth he felt like tearing the entire house down with the Dursleys still inside, just on general principle. When had he gotten so sentimental?
"You'll want to put the rolling pin down, missy, and tell us what we want to know," Moody said to the door. "You know, it's written all over you."
After a moment Petunia reemerged, holding an envelope in front of her like a shield.
"Just–just take it," she stammered. "Just take it and go."
Moody plucked it from her hand and handed it back to him. Lester took out the letter and gave it a quick once over. It was full of vague details of the Potters' deaths, the unsuitability of Harry's godfather to look after him, how dark wizards were sure to be after them all, and ended with a guarantee should they take Harry into their home harm would never find them.
"Well?" Moody barked.
"This answers nothing," Lester replied. "Are you sure there's nothing else? Did you see him in person? Did you sign anything? Did you ever use blood?"
"Of course not," the woman said.
Lester glanced at the Tonks girl. "You know how to check for Obliviation, right?"
The girl looked surprised at being included again. "Oh – um – it's…"
Alastor's wand danced at Petunia with a little curlicue. "Study up," he told Tonks, "Test tomorrow, one you won't remember taking if you fail. Remember anything now?" he asked Petunia as Pinky sighed. Auror training wasn't easy, even without throwing Alastor into the mix.
"Of course not, I told you we've never met him," the woman said again, struggling with the gag that bound her husband.
Lichfield grunted in disappointment, though all things considered he should've been glad. Moody was no slouch, and impartial when investigating, so if a witness regained no memories after he was done with them there were no memories to be found, and they wanted them gone too much to lie. It would only bring them back later on, when they were in a not-so-friendly mood once they found out they lied.
Dumbledore hadn't legally signed the kid over to them, meaning he wanted to retain any legal claim he had as a guardian – however he managed to get it – so he hadn't overtly lied to Gringotts when he gained control of Harry's account. But not signing the kid over to the Dursleys also meant he had, in fact, abandoned him here, which might have been his plan all along – meaning the old man had abrogated his responsibilities to Harry and thereby should've lost any guardianship rights because of it the instant he'd done it.
Lichfield nodded, he could work with that. It didn't make sense for the old man to leave it like this though. How could the old man have promised them protection without ever being there himself? He looked down at the letter in his hand again; it was the only link between the Dursleys and Dumbledore.
On a hunch, he pressed his wand to it and cast a spell, making the entire letter glow. Turning it over, he saw an overlapping series of circles, multi-pointed stars, and runes laid out at precise angles. They practically covered the entire back page. Here was the genius of Dumbledore; Lester wouldn't even know where to begin in deciphering this – though he thought the best place to start was the strange holes interrupting the work and accounted for the only empty spaces there.
"Good gracious!" the woman exclaimed, drawing Lester's eyes to her again. "What is this? What's going on? What did you do!" Petunia asked, her hands glowing, covered in patches of blood red lines and runes. There was an odd sympathy going on here and it didn't take a genius to figure out what it was.
"Well, I'll be damned," he said to Petunia. "The old man made you magical."
"Mummy! Give it to me. I want it," the greedy pig-boy cried as he ran back into the room. "I want to be magical too!"
The captured Erumpet struggled against the ropes so hard it looked like his head was ready to explode.
"Dudders, you–," his mother tried to warn him off.
"Here, boy, touch this," Lichfield said, holding the letter out to him.
"Are you sure that's wise?" Pinky asked. "We don't know what it does."
"Absolutely," he said, growing more convinced by the second.
Pig-boy grabbed the glowing letter, his hand coming away with the same kind of blood-red runes and swirls, leaving behind another gaping hole in the design. Piggy stared down at his hand hungrily, as if he couldn't wait to start blasting things apart with it, though thankfully that was impossible.
Lichfield negated the illumination spell on the letter causing it and the muggles' hands to stop glowing at once. He was more glad than ever Harry was out of this house; these were the worst sort of people and he'd hate to see them if they had any actual magical ability. If the boy had taken after them he would've been a monster.
"You got what you need?" Alastor asked.
"Yeah," Lester replied, refolding the letter and putting it in his bathrobe pocket. "I've got a hunch on what this does, but I'll let you know what I find out."
"No need," the older man rebuffed the offer. "I see what this is and it looks like you've got it wrapped up, so I'll leave it with you."
"What about them?" Pinky-Tonks asked, gesturing to the muggles.
"They already know about magic so there's no breach of Secrecy. What I'd really like to see is the lot of them in jail for what they've done to the boy," Lester said with a look to the muggles in question. "But this enchantment's consanguineous, so it might be helpful to keep them around, and they might be called for questioning."
A smile crept onto his face as he looked down at the struggling man.
"But this one's not needed at all; he shares no blood relation to his nephew, and I'm willing to bet most of the abuse came from him," Lester smiled. Suddenly the large man looked just as stupefied as when James had blasted him.
"You know the hoops you have to jump through to charge muggles with anything?" Moody asked.
"I do, but if there's one kid the Ministry would bend over backwards for, it's this one, especially when this gets out," he replied.
"It'll bring a lot of attention down on him," Moody warned.
"Name one thing that hasn't," he said dryly.
The horse-faced woman, who'd been getting progressively less attractive the entire time they've been there, fumed and had enough.
"How dare you!" she seethed, still tugging at her husband's gag. "What gives you the right to come in here and judge what we do in our own home? You freaks are nothing to us."
"Your sister gave me the right the day she married James," Lester growled. "I would've thought you and your lot would've learned your lesson about picking on wizards at your parents' funeral – you remember the day, don't you? – when you blamed us for not raising the dead and couldn't accept that what's gone is gone?"
"YOU FREAKS GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" the tangled man roared, finally free of his gag.
"I'll show you 'freaks,'" Lichfield said, pointing his wand at them. "Memento!"
With a whirl, number four dissolved and Lichfield found himself seated with Mrs. Hamilton of number one, a cup of Oolong in hand. The nice old widow was welcoming and eager to speak when she'd heard what he wanted to know.
"They're very odd people," she said, "quite loud. Sometimes I hear the man shouting at the boy right in the middle of the day all the way from here. Heaven alone knows what he's ever done to deserve it. He's always seemed polite to me, not like the ruffian of theirs."
Next he was with Ms. Sanderson of number five with a cup of Earl Grey.
"You never get a moment's peace with them always lurking about," she said, glancing at the window. "She's the worst; always trying to spy on me, she is. We call her 'the Giraffe' around here for a reason. None of my male friends or coworkers can come over without it being twisted into some salacious gossip. My brother visited last year and stayed the night and you wouldn't believe what she made of that!"
The story got worse with Abby Abrams of number three; though the tea was this nice fruity infusion he didn't catch the name of.
"He's really small – not like the great fat lump of theirs – and you never see him outside unless it's to slave away for hours. I tried to bring him lemonade once but she got to it before he ever saw me; I don't know if she gave it to him or not. And I can't prove anything," she said in a whisper, "but I think they hit him. I wanted to say something, but what if I'm wrong?"
Mr. Tuttle across the way had no tea, or tact.
"They say he's a criminal, but I say they're all a bunch of freaks," he said with a glower. "The fat man's always showing off, like we care. No one wants them here – or you – now shove off."
It was hard not to sway when he found himself back in his own skin and looking down at the Dursleys again, so he settled on some quick blinking instead. "How's that for 'freaks'?" Lester asked.
They had a look on their faces of abject humiliation. Petunia abandoned her fleshy husband and ran to peek through the curtains.
"They're watching us," she said in a hushed breath, "they're judging us. How can we be freaks? We're perfectly normal."
"Abnormally normal," the pink-haired Tonks corrected.
"I'm not fat," the pig-boy said unconvincingly. "Mummy, say I'm not fat!"
"Get me up!" the fat man on the floor cried, his face turning purple as he struggled against the ropes. "We're going away! Far away! Where we'll find normal people to live with and won't have to put up with this nonsense!"
"And what makes you think that'll save you from us?" Lester said somewhat menacingly, though now that he was resolved to let the Ministry have the man most of the bark had gone out of him.
"Quit poking the muggles and let's go," Moody growled to him. "When they come for you, I advise you to go quietly," he said to the fat man before stumping off.
Lichfield grunted. As much as he'd like to keep tormenting them, all it'd mean was he was as foul as they were. He glanced over to Tonks and headed for the door, leaving her to get in the last word.
"You have a – nice house," she said haltingly at the door. "Very clean."
Moody was outside waiting on them. It wasn't until the door to number four was closed and they started walking back that she turned to them again.
"I still don't get why we were here," she said curiously. "Was it the goblins or the letter… the kid? And what kid is it? It can't be that one. You don't call aurors for something like this."
"Yeah?" Lester asked, "Then who do you call when a troll's terrorizing a little wizarding kid? You'd be surprised at how much damage one bad guardian can do."
Pinky looked over at Moody. "D.M.L.E. or one of the ones that deal with muggles?"
He smiled, letting her know she's just at the tip of the problem as he pulled his bowler back down over his eye. "Let me guess, sit on it?" he asked Lester.
"A few more days at least, if not longer," he said. "Let the muggles sweat a bit. The beginning of school might be best for him but this story will get out sooner or later on its own. The kid's well away from here and everyone's likely to have our hands full soon. If I get my way he'll never be coming back here. This little bit should insure that, at least."
"It still doesn't answer my question," Pinky said as they reached a safely shaded spot and Moody cast temporary charms to make them unnoticed. "What kind of kid would be raised in that house if they had a bailiff who could rain trouble down on them?"
He looked at her wryly. "You're not in school anymore, you're going to have to learn to use this," he said tapping her forehead, before zigzagging his finger in a lightning bolt along it.
She backed her head away and swatted his finger aside like she'd never been picked on before – before her brain caught up and started to make the little leaps needed to put everything together. Pinky darted a glance back at number four before stating the obvious.
"Those people will be torn apart, even if the Ministry doesn't do it."
"That's the plan!" Lester smiled, before disappearing with a crack!
.o0O0o.
The early morning sun peeking through her windows made Ginny feel so much better. Telling everything to Tom had really helped and she had slept like – well, she couldn't remember the last time she had slept so well, or been up so early. It was nice having someone to talk to.
He had also given her a plan. It wasn't much of a plan, but it seemed more likely to succeed than anything she'd been able to come up with. No more would she be moping about hoping Harry would realize what it meant, she was going to be doing something.
Full of energy, Ginny got dressed – just simple everyday clothes, she wasn't out to impress anyone. There was no one's opinion that mattered but hers. And Tom's, but Tom was actually nice. She briefly considered pulling her hair back into a ponytail, but she really only did that when she snuck out to break into the broom shed and go flying, so she ditched the idea.
Grabbing her copy of the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 – and then doubling back to snatch the-diary-that-was-Tom out of one of her hide-a-book places by her bed – Ginny left her room. On the way down she discovered that Tom fit easily inside the back cover of her textbook, the old binding loose enough to give it enough give to make it look natural.
Right in the middle of the living room she saw a rather odd sight. Her mother stood scrutinizing every inch of the place as she slowly turned on the spot. Confused, Ginny looked around the room too. She didn't see what was so strange about it. It was clean… very clean; cleaner than she'd ever seen it before, actually, and tidier than even her mother's most frantic 'I've-got-to-fix-everything-in-the-house-today-or-I'll-go-mad' days had ever done.
Suddenly things didn't seem quite so homey anymore. The more she thought on it the more eerie it got. Things were too tidy, too clean. Was this what having a house-elf was going to be like? If it was, it just didn't seem right without a little mess. Her mother must've thought so too since she reached out to lower one side of the blanket which was draped over the back of the couch just a touch, moved an old vase about an inch to the left, and pulled a few of the books on the shelf out of alignment – only to poke the last one back to where it was before.
That actually seemed to make things better, and it was only when it was settled that her mother noticed her.
"You're up early," she whispered, as if afraid to disturb the quiet morning. "I think he's sleeping now," her mother said, before darting a look upstairs, "–unless he's up in your room straightening things. Either way, if you want something, I think I can manage a bit of a fry-up before he notices and starts cooking for everyone."
"Er – no, that's alright," she said in the same whisper as her mother. Thinking of the elf as this little thing that was always watching was really starting to creep her out. Was this what Harry felt like before he had her mother tell her to stay away from him? That was an uncomfortable thought.
"I'm just going to read – for school," Ginny said, quickly showing her mother the textbook when she looked at her suspiciously.
Her mother's face relaxed immediately, it may be years before she'd be able to look at a book without suspicion but at least those Harry books were out of the house. It would've been impossible to carry on having them around to constantly remind her she just didn't measure up, how wrong she'd gotten things because of them, and how stupid she was for believing them in the first place. Tom was right though, every day was a new start and there was no better time to reinvent herself than now.
"Well if you change your mind, I'll just be… um…," her mother said quietly, looking around at the tidy home. "I'll just be finding something else to do."
Ginny watched her mother wander off to the kitchen and wondered what she'd do with herself once school started. If Harry left the elf here she'd have nothing to do but go around the house all day slightly messing things up. But then he'd learn how to do that right and she wouldn't even have it to do anymore.
Taking one of the throw pillows from the couch, Ginny returned to the bottom curve of the stairs to claim her favorite seat in the house. It wasn't a particularly comfortable seat, hence the pillow, but that wasn't why she liked it. She liked it because like her, it was the only one of its kind; in a house of warm wood and comfortable cushions, it was stone.
Worn smooth by hundreds of years of being exposed to the wind and rain, the slightly round-top stone jut a good foot-and-a-half out of the floorboards, though her mother said it went deep into the earth below. Most of the time this spot wasn't even noticed but it was why the Burrow had been built where it was. The stone was supposed to be incredibly lucky, though she wasn't sure precisely how, but it was only part of why she liked it.
The real reason Ginny liked it was because sitting here she could look up and see the Burrow rise around her, the staircase coiling around like a great snake all the way to the shadowy top. You could see bits and pieces of the stairway when you climbed but this was the only spot where you could see the entire thing because you were right in the belly of the beast – right in its den. It was a very comforting feeling to be embraced like that.
With a resigned sigh, Ginny opened the book to the first page. This was going to take forever, but Tom's plan made sense. If Harry was into studying and liked girls who liked books then the only way to get close to him, once he got tired of Hermione, was to be prepared to out Hermione Hermione. Besides, this would give them something to talk about, her and Tom that was. She could tell him what she learned that day and he could share an interesting story involving one of the spells, if he had one.
She just wished the plan was more interesting though; Ginny wanted to be the exciting girl, not the boring girl. She had liked the idea of setting herself apart by doing what she really wanted to do anyway, which was to play Quidditch. She didn't know much about Hermione, but one thing she did know was she wasn't a good flier – or at least that she didn't like it. Ron had loved to mention that, the smarter-than-everyone Hermione left clueless as soon as her feet were off the ground.
As the sun started inching higher and looked to be a wonderful day for flying, Ginny had to admit that her plan seemed a lot better than Tom's. Then again, having a big book in your hands and nothing to look forward to but being stuck inside studying just couldn't compete to breaking into the broom shed and taking a ride on Harry's Nimbus 2000.
Who'd want to study when they could fly? And, if Harry had happened to see her and come outside... maybe they could fly together and he'd enjoy it so much he'd forget he was supposed to go anywhere else today.
That would probably spell the end of things with Hermione too. After all, what girl would want their I'm-not-calling-them-boyfriend-and-girlfriend to fly with another girl instead of being with her? That would lead to a fight and Hermione would show just how bossy, irritating, and anti-Quidditch she could be, leaving Ginny to be the fun one and come along to say how out-of-line Hermione was, and pick up the pieces.
Besides, what did Tom know about Harry anyway? Sure, he seemed interested in him, but only because she mentioned him, and then Tom only knew what she told him. Still, Ginny's insides squirmed at the dangers Tom had pointed out. What if Harry got mad at her instead and she got punished, or thought she was being phony and was only doing it to make him like her, and what if he saw that other side as too sporty and she became just one of the guys?
'Guys still go for Quidditch-girls though,' Ginny thought to herself.
Hadn't her brothers mentioned being interested in just very thing last night? She shuddered at the unbidden thought which came to her next – it was all sorts of wrong. The blond boy and his father from the bookstore weren't nice at all. Who'd do that with their own family?
She shook her head and tried to get through the page she was on because before long everyone else would be up and it'd probably be too loud to read. Although, if the guys did see her reading then maybe she could go back up to her room and everyone would think it's what she's doing all the time. That way she could be thought of as a bookworm without actually having to be one! It'd be the best of both worlds.
Just then she heard something thump on the floor somewhere above her and Ginny looked up the vertical shaft running through the Burrow to see if one of her brothers, probably Ron or the twins, were coming down for breakfast. When the seconds lingered and nothing else was heard she shrugged and went back to her reading, choosing to flip a good hundred pages ahead as if she'd been reading all this time for when someone finally did make an appearance.
Suddenly there was a pop! above her followed instantly by a high-pitched yell. Ginny looked up just in time to see Harry's elf flailing its arms as it fell on her, knocking her to the floor and sending her book flying. The little thing was heavier than it looked, or at least its head was harder.
A quick set of footfalls above her was echoed by ones from the kitchen.
"What's going on?" her mother asked, as Ginny got back up with a hand to her head.
"Dobby?" Harry's voice came down from above as he hurriedly made his way downstairs.
She went over to pick up her book, and poke Tom back into the back of it where he'd started to stick out after his short trip, as her mother went to see how the elf was doing, sparing her only a brief glance. Ginny knew then she'd been right. She should've just snuck out of her room, jumped on Harry's broom, and gone for a wild ride, taking her chances with whatever came out of it. Instead she was left wondering why she even bothered at all.
With a huff, Ginny went back to her room.
.o0O0o.
Living in tune with the forces of Good was a sensitive thing. The waves of warmth and love which emanated from the Greater Good and influenced the actions of all thinking and feeling beings worked in quiet and mysterious ways. They were so quiet, so mysterious, and so subtle that most didn't know they happened at all, and when those effects were seen they were often misinterpreted by those with less of an affinity for them. Indeed, even for one such as himself it often took quite some time to decipher what the Ultimate Purpose of those actions really were and how they served the Greater Good.
For Albus the days since that unfortunate day at the Burrow had been long days indeed, though the outcome he saw in the hallway outside his office gave him hope. Those events had to have some Ultimate Purpose, some Grand Reason behind them. If the Greater Good wanted him to be diminished in Harry's eyes so he's seen as some distant and controlling adult who "simply didn't understand" then what better way to set up events so that all of Harry's expectations were flipped upside down and he comes to know the kindly old grandfather of the wizarding world truly did know him in a way no others could and would always do what was best for him?
Yes, Albus knew now why all of this was happening. The Greater Good had seen how he'd been torn between sharing with Harry the darker elements of his past and what they meant for the future, like the boy had asked him to in the hospital wing just a few months past, but had allowed his love for the boy and his desire to give him a normal childhood sway him from doing so. He had valued his relationship with the boy too much to do his duty and prepare him for the sacrifices he must make, so now the Greater Good had incorporated those events into its plans and was arranging matters to bring him and the boy closer together. And then, once achieved, they'd be free to go forward together as teacher and pupil – like a father and his metaphorical son.
At Hogwarts things were harder to discern. The staff which had returned so far had been avoiding him as knowledge of the bank's allegations spread. Even Severus and Minerva had turned down offers for private breakfasts in his office so they might mend the rift between them. Though they had both pledged their support for him in the privacy of the dark hallway all those nights ago, it seemed they still couldn't bring themselves to acknowledge their failings to him yet, even in private.
It was disappointing, though he shouldn't have been surprised; not everyone had the humility he did. Albus wouldn't give up on his friends though; his steady and constant show of friendship, support, and acceptance would surely win the day in the end. This was what led him to the Great Hall day after day in the hopes one or more of the staff would be in attendance. As he peeked around the doorway into the hall proper his heart gave a great leap in joy. Minerva was there; surely today would be the day things started to turn around.
As Albus swept into the room, his deep purple robes particularly handsome and the star pattern it had particularly fetching, he felt his optimism rise. She didn't immediately stand and leave the high table as soon as he arrived. As steps in the right directions went, it was most certainly that.
"Ah, Minerva, it's a pleasure to see you," he said with a welcoming smile. "How are things this morning?" Albus asked as he took his seat beside her and the scant food the house-elves supplied for her grew with an additional mouth to feed. They were such marvelous creatures.
"About the same as they've been for the past two weeks," the deputy head said tersely, fingering a folded Daily Prophet. "Things haven't magically fixed themselves. Hogwarts is still greatly underfunded and no one wants to help. I've managed to scrape enough donations together to see to one new Hopeful for one year though, with perhaps a little extra for supplies."
She paused for a moment to pat her lips with a napkin. "I'm glad Miss Weasley has been taken care of," she continued, "but I'm not looking forward to making the decision of which other child to support, or whether we should split the award; both those children deserve their chance to attend. I have hopes today may see the problem solved though. Distant hopes, but hopes nonetheless."
In spite of the verbal barbs – born out of a wounded pride, he was sure – Albus still found reasons to smile. A somewhat prideful and terse Minerva with hope was better than one with no hope at all. And she had spoken to him more in the last minute than she had for almost a week. Things were certainly on their way to mending themselves there. Time would see them fast friends once again.
"This came for you," she said, passing the Prophet over to him. "It seems like another of your schemes has hit a rough patch."
With that the irascible Scot took her leave, the remains of her breakfast fading from the table leaving Albus alone in the cavernous room. It wasn't precisely the kind of reception he had hoped his olive branch would get, but at least she was speaking to him.
On the Prophet's front page Albus saw the most peculiar headline: "Lockhart Gets Liched"
'Who on Earth would make a pun with a word that could be pronounced three different ways?' Albus thought curiously.
It could be 'lich' like 'lick,' though Albus had a hard time thinking of why anyone would want to lick the man. Sure, he had sparkly teeth, shimmery blond hair, and a dreamy smile but he lacked mental acuity he was looking for. If you could stick Severus's brain into Gilderoy's body and give it a new personality entirely… then you would be getting somewhere, but that's beside the point.
They could also mean 'lich' said like 'like;' and of course Gilderoy was liked. He got liked a lot. That was the entire point of him running around the world taking credit for what other wizards had done, two of whom Albus had known and had written to him of the events as they happened. He had considered going public with those letters, but couldn't discount the possibility they had sold the stories to Gilderoy and had never told him, though he doubted it.
Albus also supposed they could have also meant 'liched' like 'litched,' and he had no idea what that was supposed to mean. Did they mean lynched? Looking at the accompanying picture, it certainly looked like Gilderoy was surrounded by a rather unfriendly crowd but he certainly wouldn't compare being forced up on his tippy-toes by a man twisting his pinky to being hanged by an unruly mob.
In an odd twist of wording, the solution popped into his head. They did mean 'liched' like 'licked,' but with the connotation of him being beaten in a fight. Albus thought it was a lot to go through just to come up with a joke for a headline but supposed someone at the Prophet didn't have much to do that day. Certainly no one at the Prophet could bother with investigating anything, or they would've noticed they had gotten Harry Potter in the lower-right corner of the picture.
The article itself was rather unkind, though Gilderoy would have no one to blame but himself. Apparently the people who had shown up for his book signing didn't take too well with his poor performance in fending off some decrepit old man. They had gone from swooning sycophants to harshly questioning him about every single thing about his books; wanting him to demonstrate the spells, to know who he spoke to, how he traveled from place to place, how he gets his mail so fast and all sorts of other things.
When he couldn't respond to their bombarding questions some parents in the crowd had put back their books and had bought copies of what the shopkeeper was holding for Harry instead. Flourish and Blotts were now refusing to accept any returns and declaring all sales were final. It was unfortunate, though the article calling for an investigation into Lockhart's supposed good deeds around the world would certainly expose the truth, if anyone bothered to follow up on it.
This left Albus with a curious pickle, and it wasn't the one on his plate – though he speared that with his fork and nibbled it as he thought. With Gilderoy back in England for the release of his supposed autobiography, and otherwise unengaged aside for publicity, it had seemed a perfect time to secure his services as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor here at Hogwarts.
Naturally, teaching the eager young minds of tomorrow would give the man ample opportunity to "strut his stuff" and "puff himself up" as it were. If there was anything Albus had learned throughout his long years was that children disliked even a whiff of insincerity, and Gilderoy had the stink of it all over himself. Of course the man's lies would be exposed, and of course it'd be the children who would do it.
The appreciation on Harry's face spoke volumes as to why the curious bystander had come to his aid; who wouldn't want to be seen as taking up for Harry Potter? But with Gilderoy's phony façade falling off so dramatically, what Ultimate Purpose did him coming to Hogwarts now serve? If the Prophet continued to rip apart the myth of competence he had clothed himself in then there would be nothing for the children to expose. Indeed, there was now nothing for the children to learn from him at all.
Albus put a finger to his lips and nodded. But perhaps that was the point. Perhaps it wasn't the children who had anything to learn from Lockhart, but Lockhart who had much to learn from them. With a smile bright enough to illuminate the entire Great Hall, Albus knew precisely what was going on here. It was one of the oldest and most compelling stories of all time: Redemption.
The Greater Good had seen the coarser parts of Albus's nature, his base desire to expose a fraud and the more refined part wanting to do so with the simple power of children, and had used it to provide a place of safety and support the beleaguered Lockhart could turn to when the house of cards he'd built for himself came crashing down.
It was to Hogwarts that Lockhart – harassed by the media and exposed for his lies – would come to get away from it all and lick his wounds, and it was here he would see the bright, youthful faces of the students. Yes, it was at Hogwarts that the fraud who was Gilderoy would die and a renewed Professor Lockhart would be born, one who – through teaching and imparting skill and knowledge that were true – would find the kind of admiration he had always wanted.
It would be a rough road for him, true; the man had scorned hard work and study as a boy, but Albus could attest there was nothing like teaching others to have you realize just how little you knew of the subject yourself, and to help you fill in those gaps. If Lockhart had wasted his first trip through Hogwarts seeking after quick fame and the flattery of others, this second trip may well accomplish what the first trip failed to do – to help him grow up.
Oh yes, Albus knew great things were in store for Gilderoy Lockhart now the Greater Good was involved in his affairs. It was only a matter of time.
.o0O0o.
AN: Thanks for reading.