CHAPTER 15: Show of Hands (Part 1)

Draco was nearly shoved to the ground as a taller, bulkier man, dragging a bright yellow luggage and wearing a black t-shirt that had a child-drawn face and the word NIRVANA stamped on top of it, ran him over without so much as an apology. Blaise sniggered from beside him. Daphne, too, seemed particularly amused by the brutishness of the Muggles. That, more than anything, made him lift his nose to the air.

The plane station was somehow worse than King's Cross. The crowds were bigger, their incessant talk forming a cloud of sound threatening to burst through the building. There were no wizards here. It was reckless, idiotic, barbaric, how the Muggles lived with themselves, Draco didn't know. Stuffing tens of thousands of people into steel dead traps and flinging them in the air seemed like a sure-fire way to get them all killed. With a broom, at least you had control. This was a type of flying Draco was surely dreading. He cursed Potter for the fifth time today but carried on with the group nonetheless.

Bitching about it would only make Daphne roll her eyes again. If this were the year when he'd finally get her to pay attention to him, he wouldn't do so by crying and complaining like a child.

Blaise led them through the station, taking charge and explaining the gist of things. Harry, despite being the Muggle lover, seemed happy to just walk and watch. Soon enough, they got their tickets, and left their bags with some Muggles - thank Merlin his father had insisted on adding some protections to it before he left. Finally, they reached the dreaded point where they would all be split up. Blaise and Harry made their way through some other door and left them alone in a line filled with Muggles. One by one, Draco watched as Theo, Pansy, and then Daphne were called by men trapped in booths and tight blue uniforms. When it was finally Draco's turn, he did his best not to fumble with the small booklet Harry had handed them earlier in the day.

"Name?" The man asked, looking at him as if he had crucioed his dog.

Draco didn't like that.

"It says in the thing, doesn't it? Would you like me to read it to you?"

Thirty minutes later, Draco was finally allowed to leave the small white room where he had been imprisoned. Even though he made a fool of himself, the men hadn't been able to find anything wrong with his papers or his luggage. He still felt their gaze as he made his way through the airport.

The others had taken over a few tables at some small coffee shop near their gate. There was nothing on their plates for crumbs, and a look at his watch told Draco that he didn't have enough time to even buy some tea. He tried not to look so sullen as he plopped down with the others. He failed.

"Well, there he is," Harry said brightly. "Took a little detour, did we?"

"I don't understand why we had to do this," Draco grumbled. "Couldn't you have spared a little more political capital for a couple of portkeys?"

"Scrimgeour was pissed enough when I forced his hand. I believe the exact words were: This is an international event of the highest importance, not a summer daycare. If I had asked for portkeys, I probably would've got booted to a plane with all of you."

"So portkeys were too much but making Muggle documents for all of us was acceptable?" Pansy asked. She was the only one on his side. Theo rarely went against Potter, and Daphne had been oddly agreeable to going Muggle for the trip.

Harry smiled. Draco didn't like it, then again, every time Harry smiled was like watching a hippogriff try to swim. "The flight's going to be about eleven hours," he told them. "After you land, follow the other Muggles to the carousel, where you can grab your bags. Shouldn't be too hard."

Blaise sighed. "To think I'm going to miss this."

Harry gave a solemn nod. "Makes you want to ditch the portkey, doesn't it."

Boarding started soon after, and the logistics of buying tickets a day before the flight was supposed to leave only just dawned on Draco. Instead of the four of them sitting together, or at least in pairs, each was rows away from the other. Theo was the closest to the front, he had one of the seats next to the aisle. Pansy and Daphne both had the seats nearest the window, something they were oddly thrilled about. Draco was in the second to last row, on his right a giant ball of a woman with long bright yellow hair, a shrill voice and a sweaty, husband who was blowing his nose on the same filthy handkerchief and sat on Draco's left.

His offers to change seats were thoroughly ignored. Or maybe they weren't audible through the woman's shrieks. What followed were the worst hours of his entire life. It wasn't an exaggeration, it was an actual fact. At some point during the flight, squished in between the snores of the woman and the stench of the man, he had decided to do an actual ranking. Every hour that passed got added to the top ten until all the slots were full, and hour three had to be moved down to eleventh place. Hour seven had been the definite winner, it had been when the woman had laid her head on his shoulder, slobbered all over his neck and decided to make him a pillow for the next thirty minutes.

Throughout it all, he didn't sleep, didn't even go to the bathroom. He stayed rigid in his seat, both armrests overtaken by the Muggles, wishing he had thought ahead and brought something on his person instead of stuffing it all in his trunk. He could have read a book, maybe if he had some quills and parchments, he could have drawn something. Draco didn't consider himself to be the most artistic of the bunch, but doodling was infinitely more appealing than waiting for the flight to end. He could have brought his wand. He didn't know what laws there were while he was in the air and in between continents. Maybe if he didn't murder them, maybe if he only shoved them away, stunned them out and let them enjoy the rest of the flight laying on the aisles, maybe then they'd understand. Draco would make them understand. He'd imperio the two Muggles, bring them to the resort, and force the head of the ICW to sit next to the two of them for eleven hours straight. Yes, after that, the man would understand. He would pardon him. Except he wouldn't, because Draco didn't have his wand with him and, so, couldn't break the Statute of Secrecy.

When the flight ended and everyone began getting off the plane, Draco was finally free. He stood shakily, the twenty-five hours he'd been awake finally caught up with him. He needed sleep. He needed a shower. He needed to pee. Shoving everyone away, Draco made it just in time. By the time he made it out of the loo, he found all the workers surrounding the door. They were the only people on the train. Somehow, he stumbled through the right way. When he faced the Mexican security guards, he didn't have enough energy to ridicule their stupid questions, which saved him from another trip to the interrogation room. Draco wondered when he had become the type of person to thank small mercies.

"Welcome back, Malfoy," Theo greeted him when he finally found them. There was a moving band parading around Muggle luggages. Draco wondered if his trunk had already been stolen. "We were just starting to miss you."

"Nice flight?" Daphne asked.

Draco glared at her. It had been on hour six that Daphne, on a trip to the loo, had found him and taken a picture of him squished in between the two Muggles. That damn flash from Blaise's disposable cameras had blinded him for a good twenty minutes. By the looks of the others, that picture had already been passed around and paraded through the plane. Draco could picture the pilot, flying back to London with the printed picture, ready to distribute it all over Britain.

"Shove off."

He and Theo hauled their trunks from the moving band, helping Pansy and Daphne with theirs. Everything seemed to be alright, he could still feel the enchantments in place, but Draco still opened it up and made sure everything was still there. He wasn't the only one, then again, that didn't surprise him. They were all Slytherins here. Soon, they left the relative cool of the building and found themselves in a wet hell. Sweat started pooling on his forehead, his shirt was quickly drenched around his armpits, and he found the others weren't faring any better.

"What now?" Pansy complained. She had put her hair up in a messy bun and opened up one of the buttons of her shirt.

"Harry told me we have to get far enough away from the Muggles, then we just call for the Knight Bus," Theo said.

"The Knight Bus?" Daphne asked. "The Knight Bus doesn't leave Britain."

He shrugged. "That's what he said."

"Bastard," Draco spat. "He better not be having us on."

They began walking away from the airport. A few Muggles stopped by and asked them some weird things in mexican, but left them alone soon after realising they didn't speak the language. One of the officers tried to stop them once. It was a lame attempt, and he gave up once he realised they weren't listening to him. They walked for twenty minutes, and each was worse than the last. When they had finally stopped, Theo had opened up all the buttons of his shirt, Draco had rolled up his sleeves, and Daphne had finally given in and put her hair in a ponytail.

After making sure there were no Muggles around, Theo raised his wand and swooshed it in the air. For a moment, there was nothing. It didn't last long, though. The sound was awful, the type you'd hear from those Muggle cars when they were angry. But this felt different. It sounded shrill, decrepit, instead of the booming air that cars in Britain had, this sounded like some sort of distorted cry you'd hear from a dying newborn. It blasted over and over again, each time closer and more nasty. They looked to the left, to the right, to anywhere they could, but there was no car in sight. The sound grew louder, more desperate, until it was above him. Draco clung to Pansy and threw them both onto the ground. There was a flash of rusty, metal pipes flying through the air before the thing crashed on the street in front of them.

It was a zombie bus. The type that had already died, had a funeral, been buried six feet deep and had somehow managed to climb its way back to the surface. Its red, white, and green colours had almost faded, and even if they hadn't, they would have barely been visible beneath the grime, dirt, sand, leaves, blood, and all the other filth that covered the vehicle. Most of the windows had holes or cracks in them, and a good third of the roof had been torn open. It screeched at them again, and this time, Draco was sure its horn really was some sort of twisted scream. The driver's window suddenly blasted outwards, dozens of small pieces of glass crashing against the ground. From within the bus, a skull stared at them. It was filthy, almost deformed. It looked like someone had painted over it, there was barely any white left. Even though it lacked eyes, Draco could feel its gaze directly on him.

"Para donde van, pues?"

"What?" Theo asked. He was the bravest of them all.

The skull groaned, turning to the back of the bus. "Putos gringos nos tocaron."

"We're trying to get to the Refuge of the Gods," Pansy said. "El Refugo de Dioses?"

"Otros cabrones, pinches turistas," the doors to the bus opened. "Andenle, andenle. Subanse!"

Draco swallowed, inching towards the back. He would rather walk to the hotel. Theo didn't have the same common sense. And after Pansy joined him, Daphne and Draco were left without much of a choice.

The inside of the bus was somehow worse than the outside. Most of the seats in the middle half were missing, replaced by what looked like a shrunk stable, filled with dirt, sand, and leaves, where three large black dogs were lying down. Their eyes shone white in the darkness, the only light in the darkness of the bus. The rest of the seats were either missing the backrest, had collapsed onto the floor, or looked like a deserted crime scene. It smelled of death. As Draco made his way through the aisle, he understood why. Everywhere he looked, there were multicoloured skeletons, laughing and jeering and drinking from cracked jugs of beer.

Theo had braved one of the blood-covered seats and Daphne sat beside him, back straight, and gripping Theo's armrest. Pansy had taken one of the collapsed seats a little further back.

"Come on," she urged.

Draco eyed the seat warily. "I'm not sitting there."

There was a horrible screech, and he was suddenly thrown to the back of the bus. He crashed against a set of bones and fur that growled at him. Draco paled, jumping to his feet, only to suddenly be thrown to the roof and then back to the ground. The skeletons laughed all around him.

"Miren a este pendejo," a woman's voice said.

"Andale niñito, antes de que te coma el cadejo!" A pair of bony hands clutched at his shoulders and threw him onto one of the seats. Draco yelped, gathering his bearings before he was suddenly slammed against the seat in front of him. The world was dizzy, he felt something trailing down his nose. The tall skeleton sitting beside him offered him its jug. "Toma, niño. Pa los nervios. Nadamas no te mies encima."

He understood the stretched-out beer well enough. Still, the filthy look of it didn't look appealing. But he was too thirsty. After a couple of gulps, he coughed and handed it back. Through it all, he never looked the thing in the face.

The driver was a maniac, it was little wonder he and all the rest were dead. The concept of roads seemed to be an inconvenience to him. Instead of going through the safe path, they drove through desert and jungle and even through small animals if the driver didn't react too fast. Draco vowed to never complain about the Knight Bus ever again. He was shaking the whole trip, hearing the laughs of the skeletons and occasionally feeling their arms clap on his shoulder. A few of the skeletons offered him their jugs again, but this time, Draco declined.

By the time the bus abruptly stopped, he had learnt enough of the driver's tendencies that he managed to catch himself before he crashed against the seat in front of him.

"El Refugio de los Dioses," the driver called out. "Andenle huercos, que se me hace tarde!"

After waving weakly at the dead, he found his friends and left the bus with them. The dreadful thing sped off the moment they were all on the ground. It scattered through the path and out of the resort, slowly vanishing before their eyes. Draco was sure he heard a faraway whimper.

"Not. A. Word."

"Words wouldn't cut it," Theo smirked.

"Pictures would," Daphne joined in. A moment later, her dammed thing flashed again. Everyone laughed.

They had stopped deep inside the resort, in front of a large pyramid, about ten stories tall, with two paths sprouting from either side of it, leading to dozens of other smaller pyramids. The entrance seemed to be relatively close to the ground, a couple of floors up, but more staircases enveloped the pyramid, going higher and higher until they reached the top. This was far from the only building in sight. There were six others from what he could tell, though from the size of the place, Draco was sure there were others around. He didn't miss the Quidditch hoops in the distance, or the vague signs of a golf course. Suddenly, the past twelve hours seemed worth it. Barely.

They weren't in the Muggle world, that was for sure. Draco even wondered if he was still in the same century. He couldn't feel the magic in the air, but he knew it was all around him. The building was made of stone, strong, grey and weathered. Old yet genuine, the clear history ingrained into the walls made up for the rather simplistic architecture. This was something completely different from Hogwarts, from the look to the feel of the place, and Draco found himself preferring the grand castle. But that didn't take away the immediate respect he held towards the building. This was a place filled with magic and history, so completely different from what he was used to back at home. It held power. Hogwarts had been a refuge, a second home. This felt like the opposite.

The inside wasn't like anything he was expecting. Red and brown dominated throughout. The walls were covered in Mayan paintings of snakes, rituals, and other weird demon things. They were old, the colour had dwindled slightly, and small cracks littered through the paintings, but they were well maintained. On the other hand, the furniture juxtaposed the rest of the building. The couches were modern, comfortable, and out of place with the age of the walls. There were Muggle lamps instead of torches, and overhead lights that were somehow lit despite the lack of electricity. Even the receptionist's desk seemed out of place inside the pyramid.

Blaise and Harry were already waiting for them. The five of them had to sign in together, their wands taken briefly so that they could be keyed to their room. It was a testament to the reputation of the establishment that Harry gave his wand after only a quick hesitation. The resort, as the receptionist explained, was made of thirteen separate hotels all linked together by roads and air travel. Surprisingly enough, Scrimgeour had spared no expense and had placed them in one of the more expensive wings: El Palacio de la Serpiente. The serpent's palace. Draco heartily approved. They all had to sign a couple of papers before they were finally let go.

"Let's leave our stuff in the room before we start exploring," Harry said.

Everyone agreed, even Draco, who just an hour ago felt as if he could barely stand, was now looking forward to seeing just how big this place was. Exiting the pyramid, they took the path to the left and followed the signs towards their room. The sun burned brighter and Draco could smell the sea in the air. Behind the pyramid, splitting both paths, was the largest pool he had ever seen, wide enough to cover most of the space in the middle and leading all the way to the beach, well over half a mile away. It was split into sections, filled with teens running and swimming and even flying over it, slides that seemed to stretch into the heavens, small mini bars inside the water, hippocampi playing with the smaller children, riding them around the place, adults tanning on the outskirts, and even a rollercoaster that went in and out of the pool, twisted itself along the slides, went across the hotel, inside the pyramids, and far off into the sea.

The countless palm trees provided partial shade as they made their way through the hotel. Their room, it turned out, was at the very top of the sixth pyramid from the ocean. The trek upwards would have been annoying if not for the floo network that worked to connect the floors. And given how their room was at the very peak of the structure, they didn't share any neighbours.

Their room opened up to a small kitchen, again furnished with what looked to be Muggle appliances. Next to it was a living room fit for about ten people, with four couches, one of those Muggle screens, and a nondescript painting depicting an old Mayan God. And at either side of the room. There were two closed doors.

"Not bad," Blaise said airily. "Mine's larger, but this is nice."

"Well, we can't all be staying in the Italian Minister's room," Theo said.

"The Italian Minister doesn't have a phoenix," Draco grumbled.

"Yeah, but he pays for his own room. I enjoy all of you, but I wasn't about to sponsor all of your week-long holidays," Harry pointed out.

Pansy began hauling her trunk and entered the room to the right, and Daphne, being the only other girl, followed with her. Just as the boys were about to explore their room, they heard her gush. "Is that a hot tub?" They all rushed to see that it was, in fact, a hot tub. Their room had two single beds, their sheets softer than even those at his parent's bed at the manor. There was another Muggle screen, a bathroom that had both a regular shower and a tub large enough for a small hippogriff, and a balcony with a compact jacuzzi.

"Oh, I wanted the hot tub," Theo complained.

"Too bad," Pansy shrugged.

"Besides, we're the girls," Daphne scoffed. "We would've picked it anyway."

"Ummm Theo," Harry interrupted.

"Yeah?"

"There are only two beds in the room."

Draco looked back. Yeah, there were only two beds. It was unlucky that the room with the two beds was the one with the hot tub. None of the girls would have tolerated one of them sleeping in their room. They would have probably had to sleep in one of the couches. Draco blinked. Theo and Harry ran out of the room before he could even think of it. "Wait, no! Dibs on a bed."

He chased them through the living room and into the other room. It was very similar to Daphne and Pansy's room, except instead of having two single beds, it had one large one. A large bed that both Harry and Theo had already claimed, jumping on it and pulling the covers over them.

"I called a bed," he snapped. He hoped it didn't sound as petulant to them.

"I'm sure you can transfigure one of the couches into a bed," Theo shrugged.

"I'm not sleeping in the living room!"

"We're full here," Harry said.

"I can fit there with you two."

"No!" Theo and Harry shouted simultaneously. "Definitely not."

"What? No, just let," Draco began pushing his way through, trying to jump over Potter and claim the middle, but then a sudden fireball exploded in front of him and Draco threw himself onto the ground. Potter's bloody phoenix, perched on his shoulder, squawked at him. He wondered if killing curses would work on phoenixes.

Blaise laughed behind them. "The couches are comfortable enough. I'm sure you'll enjoy them."

"Zabini, you are staying in that other fancy hotel. There has to be a spare bed I could crash on."

"There is."

"Great!"

"Not for you, though," Blaise smirked. "Sorry, Malfoy, you're just not that pretty."

After a few more minutes of struggle, Draco finally gave up. He carried his trunk to one of the corners of the living room and studied which bed would be the most comfortable. None of them looked as good as the beds. Isolated in between the two parties, he heard the girls laughing and Theo and Harry fighting about some decoration issues. He'd find a way to get them back. Maybe if they stayed out too long, Draco could steal the bed and lock them out of the room. It didn't sound like a bad option.

"Hey, Harry," Daphne called out from her room. "Come check out these pictures."

Draco's eyes widened. "NO!"

"Coming!" Harry shouted back. Blaise and Harry sped through the living room, flicking Malfoy off as they did.

Fuckers.

Despite waking up early and portkeying to Mexico hours before the others, it wasn't until late in the afternoon that he was finally free of his official responsibilities. Despite not being Head Mugwump of the organisation, his name carried a lot of weight, and now that Voldemort had revealed himself to the world, many long-time members looked to him as much as they looked to Babajide. The entire morning had been filled with meetings and coffee dates and brunches with one or more of his old contacts in the ICW. They wanted reassurances, and though some tried to mask it, they were all but asking what they should do or think of the situation. It wasn't uncommon, Albus had grown used to this over the years. There hadn't been a Minister for Magic in Britain that sought out his council every month since his last stand against Gellert.

The victory had been blinding, a radiant light that burst out of him and stopped everyone from seeing he was just as fallible as they all were. Every time, he became a little less disappointed that they couldn't see it. Up until recently, he too hadn't been able to see through the brightness of it all.

It was after lunch, once he had settled himself in his room and decided to seek out his young ward, that the wizard who he had been expecting knocked at the door. Babajide looked drained, as if there was an invisible dementor floating around him, consuming his energy. It had been a little more than a year since his position as Head Mugwump had been taken from him, and yet, the toll had affected the man worse than it ever had with Albus. He was wearing green and gold robes, with half of his chest uncovered and his neck and fingers littered with jewellery. Albus smiled sadly. Once, maybe, he would have tried to convince him to resign his position. It was his burden to bear, a way to make up for his part in Gellert's ascension. A part of him still desperately wanted to do it. But shifting his focus from Britain to the international front would only allow Voldemort a chance to push his advantage.

Babajide, more than most men Albus had met, had an uncompromising strength to him. There was no need to supplant him or search for a replacement.

Albus welcomed him inside, quickly making a couple of cups of tea for the both of them before they took over the couches in the living room.

"I didn't think I would see you until tomorrow," he lied.

Babajide scoffed. "I'm in no mood for games, Albus. We're not on holiday."

"No, we are not," Albus took a sip of his tea before setting it on the table beside him. "Rufus will be happy. He had hoped we may have a word before the first meeting of the assembly."

"That man is a fool. No doubt he was hoping you'd convince me to stop the proposal before it reached the confederation."

"It's not the proposal we are concerned about," he explained. "We're more than grateful to receive your help. But what you're proposing isn't an alliance, it's a dismissal."

Babajide left his cup of tea untouched. He stood up, and even that simple action felt like a mighty effort. "It isn't that simple. When Grindelwald came into power, all of Europe burned. Nearly eight percent of our kind was killed in the war that followed, along with countless Muggles. You, yourself, have said He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is much worse."

"A statement I stand by, but Voldemort remains an in-house problem. We've handled him and his Death Eaters before. Give us a chance to do so again without interfering."

"Saved by Fate, Luck, and a damn baby," the man practically spat on the ground. "You don't expect me to find that reassuring, do you? Admirers from all over the world flock to him. He burned seven cities to the ground, Albus. What will be his next escalation, do you think?"

Albus sighed. "Voldemort didn't decide to take this more direct approach out of a whim. He's counting on your interference, he needs it to happen. You know you'd be playing directly into his hand."

"This is bigger than this. The Germans have been forced to increase their spies in their Muggle government, the Americans have had to infiltrate various large companies and obliviate them all. People are loudly speaking the word Wizard on the streets, and it isn't just in Britain any more. This isn't a national issue any longer, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is risking our peace with the Muggles without care. I'm sorry, Albus, the proposal will be presented. Don't be surprised when everyone votes for it."

Babijade had made up his mind, even after hours of discussing the terms of the proposal, he remained unflinching. Albus could understand his worry, why he was so unmoving in his decision to act, but he still felt it was a mistake. Rufus, while not a perfect man, and not a particularly good Minister in Albus' opinion, was a respected general, and, more importantly, he stood clearly against Voldemort. Taking power away from him and giving it to an international confederation made up of people with disparate, unknown agendas was dangerous. Britain would have more resources and means to fight the Death Eaters and protect the Statute of Secrecy, but it would depend on the internationals. More importantly, it would anger most of the wizarding population in the country. Voldemort would manage to turn a good portion of the population against the new ICW-implemented government without Voldemort having to become more appealing to them.

When Babajide left the room, so did he leave his untouched cup of tea on the table. Albus had expected the meeting to turn out as it had. Fortunately for them, the vote needed an eighty-five percent approval rate from the confederation to pass. He'd have to spend the rest of his trip here convincing that sixteen percent to vote against it.

Now that he was free for the rest of the day, Albus changed into some robes more appropriate for the asphyxiating weather and exited his room. He made his way to the crowds, Rufus' annoyance at his last-minute request had turned out to be a boon. If he hadn't forced Albus to take care of all the reservations at the hotel, Albus wouldn't have known where to go. However, when he reached the children's room, he found it empty. The trunks beside their beds meant that they had already arrived. Given their youthful nature, they had most likely taken to explore the hotel. If it was simply the tediousness of the task, he wouldn't have invaded the boy's privacy, but Albus needed to check in on him before he could retire for the night. Twisting the silver ring on his finger, Albus received a brief flash of a scene. It wasn't much, but it narrowed it down.

Albus went about the place, amiably walking through the pools, greeting old acquaintances, even if he didn't stay still long enough for a chat. It didn't take long for him to narrow down the place he had seen, and a few minutes later, he found him. Neville was sulking in one of the deckchairs. Vastly overdressed compared to his peers, coldly gazing at the warm scene in front of him. Albus repressed a sigh. This wasn't what he had been hoping for when he decided to bring him along.

The idea had been floating about his head since the start of the summer. After Rufus had told him that Harry would be coming along, Albus couldn't help but picture the dreadful week Neville would have to suffer through alone with his grandmother. As an educator, there were few things more painful than watching a student suffer and being unable to do anything. The truly terrible thing was that it happened more often than not. Whether it was because their aid would turn out counterproductive for a myriad of reasons or because they didn't have enough power over their students, Albus had found that teachers, even headmasters, could rarely help in that open, direct way the child would desperately wish for. Augusta, despite her clear hatred for her grandson, was fanatical in her obsession with tradition. It didn't matter that she viewed Neville as the worst disgrace to her house, he was still a Longbottom, and she wouldn't let any outsider interfere with her education of him.

In the end, he had decided against it. Despite how much he wanted to, there was no way of explaining the invitation to Rufus in a manner in which he would accept it. The week would go by quickly, and after he returned to Britain, Albus could try and offer as much help and comfort to the boy as he possibly could.

That was, at least, until this past Tuesday. He was finishing up at the Ministry, having a quick word with Robards as he prepared the man for the night shift, when Bedivere Parkinson showed up at his door. Bedivere was a short man, old and wrinkly, his white hair thin and falling out. He was older than Albus, and he looked it. Even then, no one at the Ministry dared confuse him for frail. You didn't get to be Head Unspeakable by being weak, and the fact that Bedivere had remained in that position to his age was a testament to the man's power. His mere presence interrupted the conversation, and Robards didn't hesitate as he gave Albus a quick nod and scurried away.

Albus welcomed him guardedly. They hadn't spoken since that day at Parkinson Palace. Knowing that Bedivere was an enemy of Voldemort didn't fool Albus into believing he was his ally. Ever the Unspeakable, the man added his own privacy charms to the room before he sat down on the chair previously occupied by Robards.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Albus started the conversation.

"Don't worry, I won't take too much of your time. I know it's difficult, being in the presence of someone like me."

Albus smiled. "Not unbearable, I assure you."

"Yes, well, I'm afraid I don't compare to Neville Longbottom."

Suddenly, Albus was glad about the added privacy charms. "You're a smart man, Bedivere. Surely you don't believe that old Prophet drivel about him being an up-and-coming Dark Lord."

"It's more the Horcrux in his head that concerns me." When Albus didn't say anything, Bedivere continued. "It took me longer than it should have, but once I connected the dots, I couldn't unsee it. It's why you've avoided him so long, isn't it? You can't be three feet from the boy without feeling the repulsiveness of him."

"What you're suggesting is impossible. Horcruxes can't survive in rational beings like us-"

"I'm respecting your intelligence, Albus, I'd appreciate it if you'd extend me the same courtesy," his voice was as cold as they came. It took away from the politeness of his tone. "What I'm curious about is how long you've known."

"It's not possible-"

Bedivere waved him off. "Very well. Humour me then, even if I'm wrong. Let's say there is a piece of the Dark Lord's soul stuck in Longbottom's forehead. Would you have killed him? Would you be prepared to?"

Albus' face darkened.

"You know you'd have to do it, don't you," Bedivere continued. "The Dark Lord can't die until all his Horcruxes have been destroyed. Completely. Not even the smallest sliver of the Dark Lord can be allowed to survive."

"Living Horcruxes are complicated," Albus said. "There is no conclusive evidence that the host would need to die for them to be destroyed."

"Would you risk it? Saving the boy would be dooming us all if you're wrong."

Albus didn't answer the question.

"You're right that there has never been a case of a human Horcrux. We don't know how it would react, the melding of the two souls, the fate of the host. The Horcrux may be as likely to overcome the person as it is to dissipate and cease to exist. I would suggest keeping an eye on Longbottom. From what I hear, he isn't being much of himself lately. Could be the trauma he's lived through, could be teenage moodiness. It's impossible to know, the boy has had a rough few months. Regardless, I know I wouldn't risk it."

When Albus left the Ministry, he didn't return to Grimmauld Place. It had been the thirtieth, it was Neville's birthday, and he had found the boy alone in his room, enveloped by darkness, looking downright feral. Albus attempted a light Legilimency scan and didn't see anything wrong with the boy, nothing supernatural or magically alarming. But the sheer rage was overwhelming. More than shocking, it was disturbing. He hadn't felt another presence, didn't think the small piece of Voldemort's soul would be able to do much besides allow for the mental connection between the two of them. Neville was living through a difficult period. He had lost his arm, his status, the love and admiration of the people. He felt his friends were abandoning him, that everyone had abandoned him. It was natural, justified in a way. After all, Harry's hatred had been just as unnerving.

Regardless, a couple of days later, he had gone to Rufus. Albus had been surprised at just how vehemently opposed he was to bring Neville. He couldn't help but feel he'd caught the Minister at a bad time. It was with his own money and status that he had been able to secure Neville's spot, not only inviting the boy but also his friends with him. The best way to start helping Neville was by rebuilding his connection to his friends, the added expense and visits to their respective parents was a rather low price for the reward.

They were there as well, but while Neville seemed to be itching for a fight, the others were still consumed by the wonder and excitement of this new place. Albus was surprised when he realised they weren't the only ones around. Harry was there, as were most of his Slytherin friends.

"Good morning," Albus greeted the group.

They all turned to him in surprise. Even Neville, who was still angry, seemed shocked to see him here. Albus could understand why, he looked rather ridiculous dressed as he was, while everyone else was wearing swimming suits.

Daphne Greengrass was the first to recover. "Good morning Headmaster."

Albus thought about correcting the girl but chose not to.

"Are you children enjoying the resort so far?" They all gave awkward nods and mutterings of agreement. "Excellent. Do try to enjoy your trip, not all of us here are as fortunate as to be here on holiday."

Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson, and Theo Nott chuckled heartily.

"Harry," he continued. "May I have a word?"

With a curt nod, Harry followed him away from the group.

"I didn't think I was going to be needed until tomorrow, sir," Harry began politely.

"Don't worry, you won't be. I was hoping to ask for a personal favour."

"You can ask, sir."

Dumbledore gave a small smile. "It's about Neville," he said. "I'm aware of the… complications between the two of you."

Harry smirked. "And here I was thinking I did a good job at hiding them."

"Alas, no," Albus indulged him. "I know you've been putting them aside, training him and the others and working with me on our little project. I'm afraid I'm here asking for more."

"More, sir?"

"Neville is having a hard time at the moment. I'm sure, you, of all people, can understand. Having a friend, or even just a colleague who was kind, would have made a world of difference."

"It would have," Harry admitted. "But it never happened."

"I know. Which is why it's so cruel of me to ask that of you. When you needed it the most, no one was there. Neville needs someone just as badly as you once did. I was hoping you could be that person. Or, at the very least, that you could attempt to mend things between you and him. If being friends or even just friendly doesn't work out, then I would at least ask you to break the feud between the two of you. Neville has enough on his plate without it."

"I didn't realise you involved yourself in the relationship of your students, sir."

"I usually don't, but the relationship between the five of us is important. If we are to work together, especially in something as important as this, then we can't risk resentment and anger to cause us to do rash things."

Harry didn't say anything for a moment. His face was immovable. "I'll try to make amends. I can't promise anything."

"That's all I ask. Take this opportunity, I heard you got the Slytherins and Gryffindors to be amicable during your birthday party. Maybe you could try again here. We British must stick together in these foreign lands."

"That was more of Ron and Theo's doing," he said stiffly. "I'll see what I can do."

Albus smiled. "Thank you, Harry. I'm grateful, truly."

"I'm not doing this for free," Harry said suddenly, and Albus was starkly reminded that he, too, was a Slytherin. "I'm more than happy to cooperate, but I'm going to need a favour."

"What type of favour?" Dumbledore asked, already resigned.

"You're not going to like it."

That's it for this chapter, thank you all for reading!

By the time I'm posting this, I'M THIRTEEN chapters ahead, and in the middle of the first arc of the Hogwarts Fall Term titled Claustrophobia! If you're interested in learning how to get early access to the chapters, join my discord server using the following link: discord . gg / jyPfbGqhJT

As always, thank you for reading, favoriting, and commenting. I appreciate all of you!