This week's chapter is a bit more delicate and subtle than blazing wands, but I hope you can appreciate its tender tones.
The sounds of solitude
The youngest of the Blacks sat in the library – alone, encircled by candles and lanterns. With a strained expression of determination, he kept his head bowed over the parchment, fingers playing with the edge of the page.
The candles hissed softly in the draught, causing him to look up with a scowl. Angrily, he raised his wand, casting a silent Bubblehead Charm over the lot of them before he resumed his silent staring. Minutes crept by without the rustling of pages...
Some time later and with a muffled swish, the candles flickered and died from oxygen deprivation, submerging the lone reader in darkness – yet he didn't look up.
For minutes, dozens of minutes, the trickling of dust, unduly disturbed and now left to reclaim its rightful dominion, was the only thing to violate the stillness of the scene. It whirled around, dancing to the tune of some puff of air, shrouding the books, the shelves, and the reader alike in its caressing mantle of transience.
At some point in time, the soft groaning of wood, like one might expect from an old building in winter, echoed through the library. It was nary a tone – let alone noise – but the reader gave a start as if the library had been shaken with explosions.
His eyes lingered on the floor and the closed door before they fell, with a look of surprise, on the extinguished lights. With a wave of his wand, they ignited once again. One hand supporting his chin, he resumed his pondering, the candles once more free to shed their silent tears of wax. And like this, midnight came and went until the weeping candles had spent their last bit of life...
Inevitably, the red hue of dawn was tenderly invited in through the cracks in the blinds, causing the reader to look up, blinking. He narrowed his eyes as the soft glow invaded the room over the floorboards, and he pointed his wand. The blinds rattled loudly, but the invincible march of the morning sun could not be halted.
With an angry growl, Harry jumped up, sending the book flying into the depths of his family's collection.
He couldn't even remember its title.
Hands in his pockets, he slouched towards the exit, slamming the door of his befouled sanctum with enough force to shake the portraits in the corridor. They protested hotly, wagging their heads, raising their fingers in reprimand, shouting obscenities.
Harry just walked past them all.
The kitchens were empty as the elves were busy like never before; after all, the frolicsome ball was just around the corner. Harry grabbed an apple, plunked it down on a plate, and tapped it with his wand. The fruit split in a complicated pattern as if simultaneously cut by a dozen knives, leaving sixteen perfectly symmetrical slices and the core in their midst. Without any enthusiasm, Harry nibbled on one of them, traipsing with the plate in his left hand towards the neglected and cheap table in the far corner.
When he spotted three copies of the Prophet lying in wait on the tabletop, he faltered. Averting his eyes, he put the plate down on the table and left the kitchen and his seely meal behind.
He wasn't hungry anyway.
Over the next couple of hours, Harry busied himself in his chambers, going through the towers of books, booklets and leaflets, re-stacking the lot of them, tidying up his desk, polishing his quills, refilling the inkwells to the brim, going so far as to sort the parchment he usually had in loose stacks by size, thickness, and even tinge.
He decluttered his trunk, folded his robes with excessive care, refilled his ingredients for Potions, and checked on the protection of his trunk.
Not for the first time, his eyes darted to the large cherry wood clock.
tick – tock – tick – tock
Harry stood in the middle of the room, realising – for the first time – just how big it was. Idly, his gaze wandered to the window. The outside was blinding, the melting snow dazzling under the aggressive sun.
The sight made Harry sick.
tick – tock – tick – tock
He cast a glance over the rest of the room. The giant bed Cranky still hadn't shrunk back looked as inviting as ever. But, to his dismay, Harry didn't feel the least bit tired. Gone was the underlying lassitude that had plagued him since last summer, gone the constant craving for sleep. It was a pity – he would have quite liked to sleep away the day. The small bookshelf seemed to groan with its burden, the long boards sagging under the weight of dozens and dozens of books. Most of them were about magic, some about history, just a few dealt with society, Muggles or even governmental structures in Europe.
Usually, being shelved in his bedroom was the greatest honour a book in this household could aspire to, because it meant that, despite being read a handful of times, the avid reader still couldn't bear to part with it. Right now, Harry felt like he could easily do without all of them.
tick – tock – tick – tock
The room always looked the same, at least to Harry. True, some books might come and go, some letters, essays, or new inks might take up residence at his desk, but the likeness of the room was always the same, and he loved it that way. It gave him comfort to think that some things don't change, wouldn't ever change – stability meant peace of mind.
tick – tock – tick – tock
The unrelenting, merciless ticking of the clock drove him away and into the dressing room. Hundreds of robes flaunted on their rails: silken robes in majestic purple, precious velvet fabrics of midnight blue, snug winter hats of caressing plush...
Harry yanked a cheap, black linen robe from its stand and rammed it over his head, putting on a pair of sturdy boots he usually wore for Herbology before fleeing the house.
It was cold outside, with temperatures around the freezing point – the unbearable sun would only manage to melt a thin film of snow that would, come night, freeze to ice. It was strange like that; the warmth would only end up hurting people. He shuffled over to the north side of the mansion, resting on a bench Arcturus had once told him his wife had set up. Even as the first flakes of snow began to fall, Harry continued his silent vigil over the wild and fallow side of their mansion.
He liked the view; the banality of the woods, the bench hidden in the shadows and sheltered from the sun – it didn't expect anything of him. There was no wind, and the snow fell peacefully as if someone was dropping every single flake with great care. And so he sat, revelling in the dullness of his surroundings, not caring about the little piles of snow that were gathering on his shoulders and hair...
Harry only looked up when the orange horizon disturbed his serenity. Immediately, he got up as if he had something to do, retreating eastwards around the building. Even from outside, though that might have been because he'd forgotten to shut the door, he could hear the elves busying themselves with the ballroom, arranging the seating, finishing decorations.
He hadn't seen his grandfather all day, but that was to be expected. Could he really demand time from a man who was already walking a tightrope with the Wizengamot, the headship of his family, the ball, and Merlin knew what else?
Also, did he really want to talk right now...? Arcturus had, presumably, taken his breakfast in the smaller dining room same as every day. Hadn't it been Harry who had avoided him?
His restless fingers played with his wand, twirling it nervously around in soothingly familiar movements. Relaxing a bit, he gazed at the hundreds of layers of wards around their mansion. If he really concentrated, he could hear their humming, differentiate their colours, even taste their flavour. Purely by coincidence, the last ward to ensheathe their mansion was the very charm to keep the Ministry from prying into matters of underage magic. It was true that the department didn't even bother anymore with domestic offences of underage wizardry, but trust was something his family had learned to only apply to themselves.
He looked down at his low-cost and somewhat threadbare robes. Did it really matter anymore? Deciding that he very much didn't care, he ripped a bit of fabric from his right sleeve. Like a man making a quaint but inconsequential discovery, he inspected his torn and ragged clothes. It would be sensible to just go inside and use the Floo, and Arcturus wouldn't be pleased at all if he left the house unsupervised...
After a brief moment of hesitation, Harry tapped the dark rag in his hand with his wand. A momentary shimmer of cyan, a ringing whistle, and he was gone.
~BLVoD~
St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was close to overflowing with both patients and desperate relatives. Visitors were everywhere, squawking in their penetrative, crude voices, harshly demanding answers from hassled, sleep-deprived healers who did their best to placate them.
The Welcome Witch was too busy to pay any attention to him as three couples demanded in hysterical yells to see their children, but a few healers shot him strange looks, though Harry wasn't quite sure if they were directed at his person or his frazzled robes.
A kind-looking witch in her early thirties asked him with a smile if he was okay. Harry just shrugged and walked away. How was he supposed to answer that question? He himself didn't quite know if he 'was okay'. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't, maybe he would be. But, at the very least, he knew he didn't want to talk to a stranger about it, no matter her pretty face.
Harry weaved through the crowd. Every once in a while, a pair of anxious parents would forcefully bump shoulders with him and he would tumble. It took more effort than it should've to get up again, but he did without complaint. He noted that the desperate parents didn't ask whether he was okay or not.
When he finally made it to the fourth floor, his cheap robes had torn at his knees, and the heel of his hand was bleeding a bit, but he couldn't find it in him to care very much. Wiping the blood on his robes, he approached a private room in the spell damage ward.
His hand touched the handle, and he felt the intimate sensation of the wards wash over him, but the magic only seemed to purr for a second, settling down immediately afterwards. He was just about to push the door open when a familiar voice made him stop, his hand still on the knob.
'...and I haven't been able to get a word out of her,' he heard Amaryllis air her grievance to the occupant of the room. 'It wasn't too bad at first, but just when she finally seemed to calm down a bit, she got violently sick. I...I've never seen my daughter cry like that, Ophala. I had to dose her with potions because she just wouldn't calm down. It was awful!'
Harry felt his own stomach turn. He shouldn't have eaten that slice of apple.
'She was with Harry, wasn't she?' asked the soft and weak voice of Ophala Greengrass. The other voice seemed to hesitate, causing Ophala to chuckle a bit. 'Don't worry, my dear. I'll soon know anyway.'
'Y-you're really going through with it? Do the girls know?' asked Amaryllis, shocked.
'Of course, they don't. But it's going to happen this summer. I hope they'll come to accept my decision, especially my poor little Daphne. She's as unbending as iron and twice as brittle.'
'Is it...Is it because of your husband?' inquired Amaryllis empathically.
Harry let his hand fall down and slumped against the cool wall of the corridor, the door still agape.
'I...can't talk with you about it. I'm sorry, Lis.'
'Don't be! I'm sorry I got curious.'
Just then, a man in a healer's uniform and a tray of phials stumbled past him, pushing open the door after a brief glance at Harry. His eyes appeared to be rather unfocused as he passed through the wards.
'Mrs Greengrass, I have your potions here.'
'Ah! I'll be taking them immediately, Healer Jeswick. Thank you!'
'By the way,' Harry heard the man ask over the clinking of glass, 'did one of you ladies leave your gnome outside? Pets are not allowed on hospital grounds!'
After a brief moment of silence, Amaryllis replied delicately, 'I'll be sure to take him with me, later on.'
'Good, good.'
The healer left the room again, scowling at Harry before he suddenly stopped dead in the middle of the corridor, his brow wrinkled in confusion as if trying to remember something. With a shrug, he went off.
'I'm afraid he's been confunded one too many times since yesterday,' said Ophala. 'But he wouldn't stop asking questions, so we had little choice...'
Amaryllis gave an amused laugh as a reply. 'Never mind the poor healer! So, are you going to attend the ball tomorrow?'
'Well, I'd better,' responded Ophala, weary. 'My oldest hasn't been able to shut up about it for weeks. Since she's assured herself that I'll be able to leave tomorrow, she seemed more than just a little insistent. Astoria too desperately wanted to attend, but thank goodness she hasn't found anyone to go with yet.'
'We'll be able to catch up tomorrow, then,' said Amaryllis over the rustling of clothes. 'I'd better get back to work; the Ministry's in an uproar.'
'Thanks for coming by, Lis.'
'Don't worry about it. I'll be seeing you tomorrow!'
Harry didn't look up as he heard the sound of the door closing. 'Harry!' cried Amaryllis Davis shrilly. 'Slytherin almighty, you look dreadful! What happened?! Did someone attack you?'
Harry wordlessly shook his head, reluctantly looking up and into her golden doe eyes, wincing when she returned his gaze. 'I-' he stammered in a raspy voice, 'I-I'm sorry, Amaryllis!' Instead of getting up, he kneeled in front of the woman. 'I'm sorry! I messed up! I nearly got the both of us killed! And the Muggles... I'm sorry! I should never have involved your daughter. I'm so sorry!'
With a heartful smile, Amaryllis dragged him to his feet. 'Come on, Harry. You shouldn't be kneeling before me. For all the burdens you bear and all the responsibilities life has seen fit to lay upon your shoulders, you're still just human. You brought my daughter back from that hell, and that's really all I could ever have asked for. You even rescued Ophala; your grandfather told me all about it!'
Amaryllis gave him a hug Harry thought he didn't deserve, kissing the top of his head. 'And as for what happened,' she whispered in his ear, 'if it hurts too much looking forward, have a look behind you to find something to give you strength. And if nothing else helps, find someone to talk to.'
Harry nodded weakly in her embrace.
'There you go,' she said with a bright smile, producing her wand from within her purse and waving it at Harry. His scraped knees and scratched hand immediately knit themselves whole again, as did his robes. 'I'll take care of Tracey, but you, Harry, need to take better care of yourself.'
Harry shrugged, taking a step back. 'I will,' he returned without any real conviction.
'By the way, how did you get here? Are you alone?' she asked, looking around.
'Visitor's entrance,' he answered evasively. 'And it would be ridiculous of me to be here alone.'
Tracey's mother looked at him for a second before she obviously decided to not further question him. 'Listen, if you need help, Harry, that's what family is for. If you don't want to talk with the adults, ask your cousins. I'm sure they'll be able to help you. I need to get going, my break was over about half an hour ago – I think. Take care of yourself, will you?' she asked with a stern expression, looking around to make sure they were alone before she obviously decided he needed another hug.
Harry just nodded.
And with one last encouraging smile, Amaryllis took a few steps backwards, spun on the spot, and vanished with a loud crack.
Harry hung his head and maundered back towards the visitor's entrance, unwilling to pay attention to his surroundings. A few more times, healers and adults ran him over, but he didn't resist or complain, picking himself up almost regretfully.
Near the entrance, when he could be reasonably sure to be out of sight, he activated his Portkey and surrendered to the uncomfortable pull of spatial travel.
Back home, he immediately climbed the stairs towards his room, hoping that his absence hadn't attracted attention. Once inside, he leant heavily against the heavy door and slumped down again. The angry buzzing in his stomach had lifted ever so slightly, but he still felt very much like throwing up any second.
From one second to the next, he angrily tore at his hair. The wild movement of his flailing hands caught a little bit of paper that had rested, carefully folded and out of sight under another leaflet, on top of his desk. Accusingly, it hit the ground right in front of Harry.
It was last night's Daily Prophet. A giant picture of the still smouldering city centre occupied almost the entire page, and in bold, accusing crimson the headline read:
We will never forget!
Bloodthirsty attack on London results in thousands of innocent victims
ICW to investigate possibility of unknown Dark Witch or Wizard behind catastrophe
~BLVoD~
The Wizengamot was alive with acclamation. It wasn't at all uncommon for speeches or even dignitaries to be heralded with great éclat, but this time, with the notable exception of two gentlemen who were currently biding their time, the entire Wizengamot was unified in unopposed, (and possibly even rarer) genuine applause and shouts of joy. In the centre of the events stood Albus Dumbledore – still wearing his wholly inappropriate citrus yellow robes – looking tired and old but acknowledging the applause with lordliness. A few men and women in heavy trench coats stood a few paces behind him, but they seemed rather happy to let the man in front take all the laud.
It took a long time for the clapping to die down, as whenever the sound seemed to finally dim a bit, someone would stand up and cry, 'Bravo!' encouraging the rest of the assembly to continue their ringing statement.
Almost fifteen minutes later, the Minister finally managed to make himself heard.
'Chief Warlock, the dark events of the past two days left us devastated, desperate, dismal, as never in recent history has Great Britain had such a grievous wound inflicted to its very heart and soul. And yet, in these most terrible and tragic of times, we often find the brightest of lights spend not only hope – but help also. For your staggering intervention, which – I do have to expatiate upon – included not only formulating a plan, gathering resources and allies, but also modifying century-old charmwork that helped save the good men and women of London, you have the heartfelt gratitude of Wizarding Britain and my personal, eternal thanks. But – my Lords and Ladies – Chief Warlock Dumbledore went even beyond all that! It is...sickish to speak of such things during times that should, by right, be reserved to honour the dead, help console the inconsolable, and rebuild what was taken from us, but the man we wish to extol today even took it upon himself to help the Obliviators in what is likely the biggest incident of this nature to take place in centuries.
'Chief Warlock, we bow to your devotion to the good folk of Britain, magic and Muggle, and your exemplary conduct we should all be proud to strive to emulate. It is my very great pleasure to hereby nominate you, as the first wizard ever to grace these halls, for your second Order of Merlin, first class.'
Following these words, Bartemius Crouch indicated, with many a twirl of his hands, a respectful bow, and most men and women of the Wizengamot mirrored his gesture.
'Minister, venerated members of the Wizengamot,' called Albus Dumbledore in a clear voice. 'You honour me with your praise and your gratitude, as you honour yourselves with the continued service you render our country in your function as members of this most esteemed congregation.'
Short applause broke out, but Dumbledore lifted his hand to prevent matters from escalating again. 'But the time for speeches, laudations and commendations is not yet here. Naturally, we all acknowledge the terrible loss caused by the...tragedy that unfolded in such a dreadful manner yesterday, and in this knowledge, we must first work to undo and salve the wound our fellow witches and wizards, our cities, and yes, the Muggles and even the very land itself has been afflicted with. In this spirit, I ask for leave to attend to matters related to the terrible plight that has befallen our country, to return to Hogwarts and help mount, not merely another defence but – with luck – an enterprise to truly protect all of us from these nightmares that ravaged our lands.'
'Bravo!'
'Well spoken!'
Many of the assembled once again stood up to proclaim their support, though the man in the topmost lodge noted with a small and altogether rather smug, if well-hidden, grin that still a few seemed curbed by the soft reprimand the old Warlock had given.
'Well said, the Ministry too will address these most urgent of concerns with all due haste and sobriety. Thus, if no esteemed member of this council wishes to raise another concern, I hereby declare the three hundred eighty-first emergency session of the Wizengam-'
'Just a second, Barty!' someone called from the front rows.
The Minister looked inquisitive if cool at the casual address. 'We recognise Randall Prewett. You have the floor, sir.'
Prewett gave the man a boyish grin, just as many in the audience grinned exasperatedly at the antics of their erstwhile Chief Auror. 'The occasion is altogether much too fanciful for one such as me, and I'm afraid you all know by now that I never got around to that formal speaking our good Minister lavished on the Chief Warlock.'
Again, he grinned ruefully, winking at a few men who sat in the back. A few softer groans of 'Too true!' could be heard here and there, in combination with amused chuckling. The man in the top box idly noted how effective the whole thing was. He didn't doubt for a single second that Rendall Prewett meant it all and without malicious intent, but his friendly and intimate way of speaking in combination with the subtle reassurance he'd received from the audience now made the pompous presentation of the Minister look rather foolish.
'I just wanted to say,' Prewett began anew, leaning casually against the wooden railing, 'that Frank and me,' someone in the front rows coughed rather meaningfully, and Prewett rubbed the back of his head apologetically, 'I mean Chief Auror Longbottom and myself had a brief talk, and we've decided to do our bit and donate two million Galleons for the cause of supplying medical treatment and reconstruction.'
An awed murmur filled the room. Two million Galleons was more than most noble houses could gather even if they decided to sell their heirlooms. Even the Longbottoms and Prewetts, and that would factor in the other Pillars helping out, would have to make considerable cuts to gather this astonishing sum.
'And,' Prewett looked up, grinning happily, 'half the same again for the magically aided reconstruction of Muggle London. That's all!' he said, quickly sitting down again.
Once more, applause broke out, and Prewett seemed happy to take it, waving at a few people, a puerile grin plastered all over his face.
'Thank you for this most generous donation, Mr Prewett. I promise we shall put it to good use. Now if there isn't anything else,' Crouch continued with a shade of impatience, 'I really ought to get back t-'
'A short word, Minister,' a voice called from the upper rows.
Crouch looked up with suspicious eyes. After a second, he said, 'We recognise Lucius Malfoy.'
The call of the man's name acted like a blanket stifling the mood, many a cheery and relieved grin slowly twisting into mistrustful frowns.
'This will take but a second, Minister,' said Lucius Malfoy smoothly as he descended the steps, all eyes on his elegant form, his silvery-white hair shining in the gloom. 'I am very much, of course, in agreement with the spirit of this meeting, and I couldn't think of a more...fitting choice to finally break the age-old tradition of never handing out the same award twice,' he declared delicately. 'But, time-honoured Wizengamot, not only are we supposed to be the custodians of traditions and the institution of our government.' With soft steps, he entered the empty ring in the middle, raising his hands. 'No,' he continued, his face stoic, 'we are also the guardians of our laws, as well as the judge. And the law should, naturally,' he added with a small smile, 'be impartial.'
'We are well aware of the purpose of this institution, seeing as most of us have worked here longer than you,' called Madame Bones coldly from her seat. 'I hope you do not presume to lecture us, Mr Malfoy?'
'Why – that would be almost...audacious, Madame!' returned Lucius with a rather believable imitation of indignation. 'No, I very much count on your sense of duty, because,' he went on, starting to pace like a man in some internal conundrum, 'while some acts might – undoubtedly – be for the,' he coughed politely, 'Greater Good and for all intents and purposes serve the public, they might nevertheless be against the spirit and law of this very council we all swore to serve.'
The chamber was silent, every pair of eyes lingering on the man who'd stopped his pacing in front of the chair of the Chief Warlock, seemingly at random. 'Regarding that thought, there was just this extremely minor question I had, Chief Warlock.'
'Yes, Lucius?' responded Dumbledore politely.
'It's just, I seem to recall that, barely last week, following the proposal of Lord Black, this very court ordered you to remain at Hogwarts under any and all circumstances, no matter the situation elsewhere and to uphold the safety of the youths you are sworn to protect.' Lucius looked up, smiling. 'Or am I mistaken?'
'Is this really the time, Lucius? Thousands of people died, are you really willing to exploit their-'
Finally, the man in the lodge stood up. 'Chief Warlock, law binds us all equally – bystanders, heroes and villains alike. You found yourself being the braver this time around, but the law, I'm afraid, you'll find blind to your exploits.'
And as the turmoil broke out and the vultures descended, Arcturus Black permitted himself a small but oh so very sweet smile of his own, smoothing his robes and sitting down again to enjoy the fall of a giant.