~An Emerald Amongst A Sea of Stone~
Chapter Fifteen
Harry woke up to the feel of fresh linen sheets and a hint of lavender tickling his nose.
The first thing he noticed was how incredibly sore he was. Yawning, he opened his eyes.
The familiar and clinically clean ambience of the Hospital Wing greeted him. He reached for his glasses, finding them on the night table by his right.
A faint headache was nagging at his skull. He groaned.
Ugh… What happened?
The last thing he remembered was lurking around the third floor corridor and following Quirrell down the trapdoor. Then…
Slowly, things started to come back.
The room full of flying keys. The chessboard. The troll. The puzzle. The mirror. The stone.
Voldemort.
Harry looked down towards his left hand. A blood-splattered bandage was wrapped around the entirety of his forearm. He shook his head.
So that really happened.
He had destroyed the stone and managed to side-along Quirrell's body in the process. Did that mean the Dark Lord was dead?
For a moment, crimson eyes burned before Harry's inner eye. He pursed his lip.
No… can't be that easy, can it?
At the reminder of the explosion, Longbottom's face flashed past him for a moment.
Hopefully that moron got his as well…
He paused.
Or maybe not. I'd like to see the look on his face when he realises he helped Voldemort almost get the stone. What a fucking idiot…
Harry had been trying to steal it himself, of course, but that didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. Longbottom had been so convinced in his completely wrong version of things that he had entirely ignored the fact that they hardly made any sense.
Yet Harry couldn't lay all the blame on him.
How did I forget to place a basic fucking alarm ward?!
He'd even known Longbottom would be coming. An alarm ward on just one of the many doors he had passed on his way to the stone would have prevented this mishap. At the trapdoor. On the chessboard. Anywhere.
Harry felt like pulling his hair out. No matter how much he wanted to tear the boy wonder to shreds for interfering, at the end of the day, he had allowed him to by failing to remember the possibility.
Which, by all means, shouldn't even have been possible. After all, he had overheard the twat and his friends talking about it just hours before.
I'm such a fucking idiot.
And then there was Voldemort's offer. Ought he really to have just denied it? Perhaps…
He shook his head, banishing that thought.
No matter how attractive the deal might've seemed, he just knew that accepting it would've been wrong. Even if that meant destroying the best means to cure his Mom.
He took a deep breath. Seems like I'll just have to pursue my original plan. Maybe–
He was Interrupted by the creak of the hospital wing's gates opening.
Cloak trailing behind, Albus Dumbledore, complete with a pair of half-moon spectacles and a long, silver beard, strode inside.
His eyes wandered around the hall until, eventually, they settled on its sole wakeful member. Slowly, he approached Harry's bed.
"Had a good night's sleep, Harry?" the man asked.
A hint of amusement could be heard in his voice, yet the headmaster's posture suggested that this was not merely a social visit. Despite the fact, Harry went along.
He grimaced. "Could've been better, sir. I think Madam Pomfrey needs to replace some of her beds."
Dumbledore chuckled heartily. "Very true. Alas, in all my years no one has ever dared to tell her. I believe these beds may perhaps be the very same ones which I had the pleasure of occasionally sleeping in during my school time."
Quiet reigned for a moment. The Professor's eyes shifted towards the bandage covering Harry's forearm.
The teen pursed his lip. "Will it heal?"
Dumbledore nodded. "I'm not familiar with the nature of the spell that caused it, but neither me nor Madam Pomfrey were able to find any traces of dark magic in your wounds."
Harry pondered telling him for a moment. He did.
"Adurendum."
The Professor blinked. "Pardon?"
"Adurendum," Harry repeated. "That's the spell. It passed straight through my shield."
"Hm…" The headmaster frowned. "The cauterizing hex," he murmured. "I remember hearing of it once. What kind of shield did you use?"
"The standard Protego."
The wizened man nodded. "That explains why it wasn't caught. The spell is a rather obscure one. Quirinus was the one to cast it, yes?"
"I…" The words were stuck in Harry's throat. He didn't know where to even start. "Sorry– What do you even know about what happened last night, sir? Did Longbottom–"
The headmaster raised his hand. "Yes, Neville has indeed already told me his very strange version of events. However, I find myself doubtful that his words told the whole story. I had hoped that once you woke up, you would be able to fill in some of the gaps."
Harry nodded, his heart rate calming ever so slightly. That I am.
His eyes sought out the ceiling. "Well, first of all, I should mention that it wasn't me trying to steal the stone, but Professor Quirrell."
The headmaster inclined his head, unconscious of the lie. "That much I already assumed."
Good.
Harry continued. "I followed him to the third corridor below the invisibility cloak. And when he was trying to figure out how the mirror worked, I decided to incapacitate him."
"And how did you receive intelligence of the stone's existence?" Dumbledore inquired with a tilt of his head.
Harry didn't need to lie. "I overheard Longbottom and his friends talk about it in the library, sir. They weren't particularly subtle about it."
The headmaster nodded. If he was displeased by that piece of information, he didn't show it. "Go on then."
Harry did.
"After I bound Quirrell, I wasn't sure what to do next. So I took a glance into the mirror and…"
Full, auburn hair flashed past him for a moment. Dumbledore peered over the rim of his spectacles. "Yes?"
"...and I ended up accidentally getting the stone. That's when Longbottom arrived and blasted me into the wall with a disarming charm. He then accused me of trying to steal the stone – for Snape."
Dumbledore pinched his eyebrows for a moment. "Professor Snape, Harry, but yes. That was a rather erroneous decision on Neville's part. Please continue."
"While Longbottom was busy freeing Quirrell, I managed to get my hands back on my wand. Him and I duelled for a while, I won, and after he was bound, Quirrell stunned him. The thing is…"
Harry took a deep breath.
"Quirrell wasn't really Quirrell. He was being possessed. By… Voldemort. I know it sounds impossible, but–"
To his surprise, Dumbledore shook his head, cutting him off. He sighed deeply.
"I have long suspected that Tom, as I knew him, survived that fateful night almost twelve years ago. While it may have been hard to convince most British citizens of your story, you need not fear the same thing with me. I believe you."
Harry practically felt the equivalent of the Hogwarts Express drop off his shoulders.
Thank God.
"Thank you, sir." He paused. "After Neville fell unconscious, the Dark Lord and I duelled for a while. I was losing. The only idea I had of trying to make it out alive was using the backlash of the stone's destruction to kill Voldemort. So I banished the stone at him and shot a Reductor after it."
"And that's the last you remember," Dumbledore nodded. "Naturally. I was told the detonation of magical energy could be heard all throughout the castle."
Great… So everyone already knows I was involved.
Harry's eyes drifted off into the distance. "The stone was real then?"
The headmaster shook his head in the affirmative "Nicholas entrusted it to me after almost dying to protect it. Despite his age, my friend was never much of a fighter."
Makes sense…
He wanted to ask whether the rumours about it being a panacea were true, but thought better of it.
There's no way he wouldn't make a connection.
A hint of guilt nagged at Harry's conscience. "Does that mean the Flamels will die?" he asked.
Dumbledore chuckled, shaking his head. "Nicholas is a far too stubborn man for that. I suspect he will just make another copy, though it may take him a couple decades. You need not worry. From what you have told me, you did the right thing."
Perhaps that's for the best…
"Thank you, sir." He glanced up, right into the headmaster's electric-blue eyes. "Does that mean Voldemort is finally gone now?"
An entire conversation seemed to pass in the silence that followed.
"Do you really need to ask, Harry?"
No. Not really, at least.
He licked his lip. "What I just don't understand, sir… Why didn't he kill Longbottom when he had the chance? I mean, no offence, Professor, but–"
Dumbledore massaged his beard. "Yes, it does seem rather out of character, doesn't it?" He paused. "I'm sure he had his reasons… Tom, I have to admit, has always been rather difficult to predict, even for me."
Tom… The same one Myrtle keeps talking about?
"Do you believe he'll come back, Professor?"
The headmaster remained silent for a while. "It's a possibility. One I find to be far more probable than I would like."
Then I need to be ready.
He nodded. "Thanks, Professor. I… I'll keep quiet about it."
The man smiled. "I know, Harry. And even though I am disappointed in your decision to pursue Quirinus on your own, I am also in your debt. Not only did you protect the stone while I was gone, but you single handedly prevented the worst Dark Lord of the past centuries from reacquiring a body."
Protect the stone, sure….
"If it were not to raise so many questions with the board, I would award you a Special Service Award without a second thought. Alas, I think there is one other thing I can give you, that may be even more valuable."
From his robe, Dumbledore produced a sealed envelope. He handed it to Harry before turning around and shooting the teen a calm smile.
"I will take my leave now. If there is anything else you wish to tell or ask me, do not hesitate to visit my office. The password is liquorice."
And within a moment's notice, the headmaster was gone, leaving Harry to ponder the letter he'd been handed.
What's this about?
Tentatively, he tore open the envelope and unfolded the parchment inside.
'Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected to participate in the Beauxbâtons Student Exchange Program come October of this year.
The exchange will last until the end of next semester and provides you with a unique opportunity to experience the rich culture and prime education offered by the Premier French School for Magic.
Down below, is included a list of details, and the permission slip, which requires signing by your guardian within the next two weeks.
Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry
Laurent Leclerc, Sous-directeur de l'Académie de Magie de Beauxbâtons'
Harry unfolded the next page. His eyes scanned the details, before settling on the aforementioned slip.
'I hereby give permission for my ward to participate in the Beauxbâtons Student Exchange Program. I understand that he will be subject to the rules and regulations of both Hogwarts and Beauxbâtons during the entire duration of the exchange.
Signed,
Hogwarts, the 14th of June 1994
Frank Longbottom'
"The scar is rather prominent, I'm afraid, but it should fade with time," Madam Pomfrey said, her aged face marred with a hint of displeasure.
Harry inclined his head. "Thank you again, Ma'am."
The matron nodded, her expression softening.
"Consider yourself discharged, Mr. Potter. Take care."
With loud, clicking steps, she vanished back into her office. Harry smiled, stretching his limbs.
Freedom, at last.
The woman had kept him locked up in the Hospital Wing for the last few days because of severe magical exhaustion. Personally, he thought the matron had exaggerated a bit.
Though I did sleep a lot…
He eyed the pale scar tissue covering his left hand. His face hardened at the reminder of that i night. His lip curled.
Next time I'll be better.
His eyes trailed over towards the ancient gate which led out of the pristinely white hall. He nodded, taking a deep breath.
Time to go.
For the first time in a while, he was wandering the halls without the map or his cloak. It was a strange feeling, not being able to predict whether someone expected him beyond a corner or not.
Fortunately, he could rest easy, knowing Dumbledore had placed all his belongings inside a safe in the dungeons.
The headmaster had visited him a few more times over the course of last week, mainly to assuage any inconsistencies his version of things had shared with Longbottom's, but also to… ease the tension between the two boys.
Unsurprisingly, it hadn't worked.
The best Harry could hope was that he wouldn't strangle the boy when he entered the Great Hall a couple of minutes from now.
Would be a way to finish the school year. By being expelled for murder.
For a moment, he considered skipping the feast, but banished the thought.
No need to feed into the rumours even more.
He sighed, pushing open the gates leading into the hall. The banquet was already in full swing, so fortunately, only a few handful of students seemed to notice his arrival.
He made his way over towards the Slytherin table and, like nothing ever happened, plopped down on the seat right next to Tracey.
Everyone stared at him. After a moment of silence, Blaise spoke.
"The return of the dead."
A few people snorted.
Harry yawned. "Pomfrey kept me locked up far longer than necessary. I was pretty much fine after a day's rest," he replied casually.
"I…" Tracey's words were stuck in her throat. "What even happened?! First there's this huge boom! Then all of a sudden classes are cancelled and you're gone for like an entire week?!"
He offered an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "As I said, Tracey, the matron was being a little overzealous with her care."
Tracey looked at him, speechless. "That– Ugh!"
"She didn't fix you up completely though," Nott commented nonchalantly, eyeing the pale skin of Harry's left hand.
"Obscure spell," the green-eyed teen replied with a shrug. "Anyway, what did I miss?"
No one answered. He felt stares pin him from left to right.
Harry frowned. "Why are you guys looking at me like that?"
"Because it's not happening," Daphne replied.
He didn't understand. "Pardon?"
Dark, sapphire eyes, sprinkled with flakes of ice, gripped him.
"We're not going to act like nothing happened again," she said. "Not this time."
Harry's frown deepened. Since when did she care?
He looked at his other friends. No one voiced any disagreement.
Seriously? All of you?
The fingers of his scarred hand softly prattled against the table. Perhaps he could just try to play it off like usual, or…
He banished the thought.
They'll probably know…
Either he risked estranging his friends or… opened up? Neither option sounded particularly appealing.
For a moment, he missed the times in Little Whinging, when he would hang out at the library all day and his world consisted of just books, books, and more books.
Why did they care anyway? Wasn't it enough that he helped them with homework and hung out with them from time to time? Wasn't that what friends did?
He shook his head.
Whatever.
With a smooth flick of his wrist, he produced his wand.
"Surdo Ali."
The noises of the banquet around them faded into the background. He bit the inside of his lip, his eyes finding the enchanted night sky above.
"I can't tell you everything. I promised to keep some things quiet," he said with finality.
Tracey raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. "Oh, really?" she asked. "To whom?"
Nott yawned. "You don't have to answer that."
Tracey glared at the boy.
Harry was quiet for a moment. "What do you want to know?" he asked.
It didn't take much time for someone to respond.
"How about you start by explaining why you were in the hospital wing for so long?"
Harry's eyes closed. Why, huh?
Crimson eyes burned brightly, even in the darkness of his mind.
He exhaled. "I lost a duel," he answered simply.
Judging by their reaction, that wasn't the answer his friends had expected. They looked at him with a hint of puzzlement, clearly not entirely certain whether he was joking or not. Blaise frowned.
"Against whom?"
"Professor Quirrell." Technically, not a lie.
Daphne's gaze swerved over towards the teacher's table for a moment. The defence Professor's seat was, unsurprisingly, empty.
"That's why he's missing…"
Harry nodded. "He's dead."
Everyone's eyes grew wide. Even Nott's posture tightened.
"What do you mean?" asked Blaise, the crinkles in his forehead growing more pronounced.
Harry paused in thought for a moment, considering what to say.
It's not like they'd spread the word. At least I don't think so…
Nonetheless, his eyes were drawn towards the ceiling again. He took a steady breath.
"I killed him."
Silence was the answer. He took a slow, controlled breath, pursing his lips.
Tracey stuttered. "Y- You killed him?" Instead of angry, the girl now sounded scared.
Harry nodded, glancing down to look into his friends' unreadable faces.
"I'd do it again if I had to," he added unhelpfully.
Quirrell was living on borrowed time anyway.
No reaction. He scanned their expressions, looking for some kind of telltale, but except for Tracey's pale complexion, no one else's feelings were obvious.
Eventually, someone spoke. It was Nott.
"Good."
For a moment, everyone looked at the boy.
Tracey's disbelieving stare was the most prominent. "Good?" she repeated, speechless. "Harry killed our Professor and you think it's good?!" she asked.
Nott shrugged. "Well, better it's Quirrell than Harry dead. Or do you disagree?"
Silence again.
The air inside the privacy bubble grew even thicker than before. Thankfully, Daphne followed up with a question of her own.
"You said you lost the duel, right?" she asked. After a moment, he nodded. "How did you kill Quirrell then?" Daphne asked.
He couldn't keep himself from snorting. "Luck."
It was the truth. By the time Longbottom had arrived, Voldemort had basically been guaranteed the stone. The only reasons he failed were his arrogance and the overconfidence that he'd be winning either way.
I still don't know why he listened to me when I screamed stop…
"Luck?" Tracey asked, clearly doubtful.
He nodded. "That's all I can tell you," he confirmed.
She didn't seem satisfied. "Can or will?" she challenged, crossing her arms.
Harry tilted his head to reply, but before he had a chance, Daphne's elbow hit Tracey's ribs.
"It's fine either way," the sapphire-eyed girl said. "Thanks for telling us."
He nodded in recognition, his fingers once again tapping against the table. Had he done the right thing?
Not like it matters now…
He cancelled the privacy charm, exhaling.
"So. Did anything happen while I was gone?" he asked. "They haven't made the results public yet, have they?"
Disregarding the OWL and NEWT students, academic award ceremonies were supposedly held in the Great Hall at the end of the year. They weren't anything grand, but the students with the best exam scores would usually receive a small gift and a positive note in their record.
Might as well take it…
Nott shook his head. "They didn't. Not for our year. McGonagall mentioned there's going to be a meeting for any attendees of the exchange after the feast though."
Which means they're about to tell us…
So Dumbledore had given him the slip almost a week in advance. Interesting.
Better keep that quiet as well.
Suddenly, a loud gong echoed through the hall interrupting his musings. Harry's gaze snapped over towards the teacher's table. Professor McGonagall climbed onto the pedestal, her wand pointed at her throat.
Speaking of the devil…
"If I may have your attention please!" she called, her Scottish brogue as prominent as ever.
At once, the hall quieted of all chatter and murmurs. The woman cleared her throat.
"As I mentioned, later this evening, there is going to be a get-together between those students who were diligent enough to be selected for the Beauxbatons exchange program," she began.
"However, since none of you know whether that includes yourself yet, I – along with Professor Flitwick – will now hold the award ceremony for our first years. Without further ado; In number ten, with a perfect score in Charms and a near flawless in Potions, we have–"
"Ten?" Tracey whispered confusedly. "For the other years it was eight."
"Spares in case anyone declines the exchange, I guess," Blaise breathed back.
"–Theodore Nott!" McGonagall announced.
Polite clapping echoed across the hall.
Harry shot the boy a nod of acknowledgement as he rose from the table and strode over towards the hall's front. Flitwick and the deputy headmistress offered him brief congratulations and a small gift with purple wrapping.
"Number nine, with a perfect score in both Defence Against the Dark Arts and Herbology…"
Harry felt his fist close, already knowing whose name would come next.
"Neville Longbottom!"
With a forced smile, the Boy-Who-Lived got up from his bench and moved to accept his gift. For any bystander, the boy may not have looked any different than usual, but Harry could see the difference in how Longbottom carried himself.
He was less pompous. Insecure.
About halfway up to the pedestal, their gazes met. Cold and resentful emerald eyes bored into defiant hazel ones, until Longbottom inevitably turned his head away.
Figures… Ever the coward.
After the boy-wonder, the next two to be called up were Terry Boot and Susan Bones – the former of whom Harry remembered sharing a boat with back in September. Bones shot him a small smile as she made her way up to the pedestal.
Harry frowned at the gesture. I can't remember being particularly nice to her in the forest… He shrugged it off.
"Number six comes with no perfect result, but various impressive ones. Congratulations to Padma Patil."
Confusion evident in her face, the Indian girl hurried over towards the front of the hall to accept her commendations.
"At number five, with the second best potions exam so far and an otherwise near flawless academic record, comes Draco Malfoy."
Harry didn't bother to watch the peacock's stroll up to the stage. Malfoy certainly wasn't stupid, but how the boy had managed to salvage fifth in their year was beyond him.
Though I didn't see him around during exams…
McGonagall continued. "At number four, with our best potions result in a decade, is Mr. Blaise Zabini."
The green-eyed teen shot his roommate a genuine smile. "You earned it," he mouthed.
Smooth like ever, the Italian moved to receive his gift.
"At number three, with perfect scores in charms, history, and potions, is Daphne Greengrass. Congratulations."
The girl was back to her usual stoic self by now, but Harry could tell she was trying to hide a smile.
McGonagall cleared her throat. "Now, for our two best students, whose exam profiles couldn't be more different," she declared. "In second place, with the best theory work in her year, please applaud for Hermione Granger."
Which means…
The woman's eyes found his own. "Joined at the very top, with an ace in both the wanded arts, by Mr. Harry Potter!"
Polite applause echoed all across the hall as Harry rose from his chair and moved up to the front. His friends shot him smiles from all around, Daphne's especially prominent.
Professor Flitwick was practically radiant as he offered him a golden-wrapped gift. The charms master's eyes were shining with the same warming depth Harry remembered from that Halloween night almost a year ago.
The man almost beamed with pride, only a hint of sadness in his large, blue eyes.
"Even better, Harry… Even better."
The teen couldn't help returning the man's bitter-sweet smile.
Filius was having the first laid-back evening in a while.
With exams done and dusted, and his time spent on teaching duty effectively cut in half, there was now once again some space in his schedule which he could just allocate for moments of peace and quiet.
And though it may have seemed paradoxic, the charms master found that these types of evenings were often far more productive than the ones where he was forced to correct essays or prepare future lessons.
Sometimes, Filius was convinced, the mind just needed a moment to set its thoughts into order. And thus, tonight he found himself at his desk, doing nothing but to sip away on the glass of pleasantly warm Firewhiskey he had poured himself a few minutes back.
All while watching the fireplace crackle with flames.
What a month it's been… he hummed.
After hundreds of written and practical exams, countless meetings with Laurent to discuss the exchange, and testing Gemma for her competition in the upcoming qualifiers this summer, the year was finally coming to an end.
And he almost wanted to say things were perfect.
Harry had achieved the best practical exam score since the 1940s, Gemma was sure to at least make the playoffs, and everything was set for eight of his proteges to visit the French Academy for Magic come next year.
Yet there was still that one thing nagging at his skull. That one thing that, no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't ignore.
Why Albus…?
Instead of coming clean about what had happened the night Quirinus died, the headmaster had decided to seal the matter, only telling the staff, as he'd had so nicely put it, necessary details.
Filius grimaced. In essence, nothing.
That Qurinus had been trying to steal the stone and died in the process, he could have already deduced himself What actually interested him, was why, afterward, Harry had spent just short of a whole week in the hospital wing without being allowed any visitors.
It was obvious the boy had been involved in the affair, but given Albus's nature, Harry's name had never even fallen.
Filius remembered him doing the very same thing at the beginning of the year, when that group of upper years had attacked Harry in one of the abandoned hallways. The only difference now, being that this time consequences had obviously been far more severe.
As far as he could judge, Harry was acting no different than usual, but with how emotionally closed off he knew the boy to be, that wasn't enough assurance to stop him from worrying.
I just know something ugly happened…
Yet he had no leverage over Albus to demand the truth. He could ask Harry, of course, but Filius was a realist, and it was unlikely the boy would be any more forthcoming.
He sighed, taking a sip of warm liquor.
Perhaps I should just retire once Harry graduates… I don't know if I'll make it to seventy if Albus keeps playing every card this close to his chest…
Filius looked up to his old friend. He truly did. But secrecy had its limits, and sometimes, keeping things secret ended up costing everyone more than being honest would have.
Unfortunately, I don't think I can change him.
He chuckled sadly. Perhaps–
A sudden knock echoed against the door of his office. He frowned, his eyes shifting over towards the enchanted entrance. Who would want to talk to him at this time of the day?
"Yes?" he called.
The voice opposite the wood was muted yet familiar. "It's Frank. May I come in?"
For a moment, time stood still as. Filius' expression evened out, the thoughts from earlier banished almost immediately. A momentary grimace marred his features.
I didn't expect him to actually come… Certainly not at this time.
"You may."
With a wave of his wand, the door swung aside, revealing a middle-aged, broad-shouldered man with shortly-cut, mousy-brown hair and a set of bright-red robes. A golden badge adorned his chest, his hazel eyes exuding a sense of good-willed authority. A no nonsense kind of man, if you'd ask a bystander.
Frank Longbottom. Head Auror.
"Please," Filius said, gesturing towards the space in front of his desk. "Take a seat."
He watched as the man took the offer, conjuring himself a temporary chair. The charms master's gaze flickered back towards the still crackling fireplace for a moment.
This conversation has been long overdue.
"How can I help you?" Filius asked.
Frank replied with a seemingly good-natured smile. "Come now, Filius. It was you who wanted to speak with me, wasn't it? You asked Albus to pass on the message."
Filius nodded. "I did," he replied evenly.
The auror's smile persisted. "Then might you enlighten me as to what's the point of this meeting? I hate to be impolite, but I don't have much time on my hands, you see?"
Not much time indeed… Filius thought darkly. He remained silent.
Frank merely chuckled, but the charms master could see the man growing slightly uncomfortable.
"If this is about Neville's involvement in that whole Philosopher's stone affair, I will apologise for his hasty judgement."
Filius tilted his head curiously, barely managing to conceal his surprise. Neville was involved as well?
"Hasty judgement?" the charms master repeated.
Frank managed something between a smile and a grimace. "With what happened between him and Harry earlier this year, I'm sure you can understand why he acted prematurely."
The flying incident? What else is Albus hiding?
Filius' mood soured on the spot. His left hand prattled softly against the surface of his desk. "Please elaborate."
The man combed through his hair. "Well, Nev was just trying to do the right thing. I'm not denying that there was a lack of critical thinking, but he's still just a kid, you know?" he asked.
I cannot believe this…
"I'm afraid I don't," Filius replied. "Albus has told me nothing."
A deep frown appeared on Frank's forehead. "He hasn't?"
The charms master nodded. "The only notice we received was that our colleague died while trying to steal the stone. The only reason I know Harry was involved is because he spent the entirety of last week in Poppy's care."
The surprise on the auror's face was genuine. "Well, that isn't right…" he muttered. A pause. "But if Albus didn't think–"
"Frank," Filius warned.
The man shook his head, continuing. "If Albus didn't think it's a good idea, I can't tell you in good conscience."
The charms master folded his hands on the desk, the anger which he'd held in over the past year finally leaking into his voice.
"Fine. Then why don't we just get to the heart of the matter so I can stop wasting your time?" he asked cooly. "Do you have any idea as to why I actually wanted to talk to you?"
Frank frowned at the change of attitude. "Filius, if this is about the boy's exchange slip–"
"It is not," Filius answered tensely, feeling his patience wear thinner. "It is about the fact that you are failing the responsibility Lily and James handed over to you, that before he was thirteen, Harry didn't know his mother was alive, and that you sent him to live with the worst set of muggles I've ever seen before forgetting about him for over a decade," he hissed.
Filius took a shortened breath, controlling his temper. "As your former teacher, I am not just ashamed but furious. James would flay you alive if were he still with us."
Frank stared back at him, his expression unreadable. He didn't respond.
"Surprising, is it? You never bothered to check on him, after all. Or you would've known just who it is you carted him off to. You could've just sent him to live with any other wizarding family, but Petunia? Raising him in an orphanage would've been kinder."
He could see Frank try to formulate an answer. The man had closed his eyes and was taking deep, slow breaths.
"Cat got your tongue?" Filius asked.
The auror opened his eyes, clearly trying to reign in the emotions which were swirling around inside his skull. He pinched his brows in irritation.
"Filius, I don't know if you seem to remember, but right around the time James was killed–"
"Alice was," Filius finished for him. He leant forward, laying his forearms onto the desk. "I know. I'm not sure you heard me correctly. My problem isn't that you didn't want to take Harry – it's the fact that you sent him to live with Lily's sister and didn't bother to check up on him for a decade."
Frank was quiet for a while. "They said they didn't want any interference," he eventually replied.
Filius couldn't stop himself from scoffing. "Of course not. They hate magic, Frank. They didn't even tell Harry he was a wizard."
The auror frowned. "But–"
"How much did you pay them?"
Frank blinked. "I beg your pardon."
"How much, Frank. They would've never taken Harry if not for money. I know Petunia better than anyone else."
Except for Lily.
He could see the man's last vestige shut. "Why does it matter to you? It's family business."
Filius wanted to laugh. Family business, he says. How much further can you sink into denial?
He shook his head. This is pointless.
"You know what, Frank? I don't think you're listening. So why don't I get on with what I wanted to tell you?"
He continued without stopping.
"Harry will not be returning to Surrey this summer. He will not be with Vernon, not with Petunia, and certainly not with you. So, I suggest – one, you either relinquish guardianship to someone more suitable – or two, you give me your word that the boy will be free to do as he pleases this summer."
Silence hung over the office for a while as the two men stared at each other. Sparks continued to crackle inside the fireplace.
"Fine," Frank agreed eventually, his voice monotone. He stood up. "Will that be everything?"
Filius nodded. "For now."
The man turned around. "Good. Because I still have matters to attend to. Goodbye Filius."
And without another word, Frank marched out of the office, closing the door roughly on his way out.
Filius could only stand after him in disbelief. What a fool…
Author's Note:
Hola Amigos!
Perhaps not the "fallout" chapter all of you expected, but I hope it was still a decent read nonetheless. I know not too much was going on, but skipping right into the summer felt kind of wrong.
I'm pretty certain this will be the last Hogwarts chapter for this year though, so stay tuned for the upcoming ones.
In general, I'm not completely happy with how this one turned out, but I still think I managed to showcase some of the dynamics between the characters quite well in a way that wasn't too boring.
Also: Applause for Harry getting #1, WOOOO! (No one would've expected that…)
If you wanna hang out on my discord and chat with me or other people about the fic, I hope to see you there. Here's the link:
zwpshsfKJn (FFN remove the spaces)
Last but not least I want to thank all of you who keep giving me favourites, follows, kudos, and especially reviews. We hit 500 kudos on AO3 and over a 1000 follows on FFN a while back, and I'm not gonna lie, it feels really good to see how many people enjoy this story.
So thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
As always, I can't say when the next chapter will be out, so – to avoid backtracking – I won't make any promises. I'll see you again eventually though.
Cheers.