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Chapter 48: Cogs

Charlus and Dorea were sitting on two chairs beside their son's bed. Dorea had James's left hand clutched tightly in her right and was speaking soft words that did not carry through the room. Charlus merely stared into his son's face and sat limply by, moving only to raise his head when the private ward's door opened.

"Harry!" James made to leap out of bed, but the grip his mother held around his hand restrained him. "Let me go, mum!"

Dorea clicked her tongue. "Not until the healers' test results have come back."

"Don't look at me," Harry said when faced with James's wide, imploring eyes. "That's not a fight I want any part of, thank you very much."

"I guess that's fair enough," James said. "Right scary, my mum is."

Dorea had risen to clasp Harry's hand; there was more emotion splayed across her face than he had ever seen there in the past. "Thank you for coming so quickly. I know you've had a rough couple of days."

Harry squeezed her hand in return. "Of course." The rare outpouring left him choking back a swell of liquid heat. "I'd have been up sooner if the receptionist hadn't been so up-tight about it." He turned his eyes on his grandfather. "It's good to see you up, Lord Governor."

Charlus looked up from his ceaseless inspection of his son's face. "Charlus," he said simply.

Dorea released Harry's hand and moved to her husband's side. "Come along, dear. I think James wants time alone with his friend." Seeing the way Charlus moved filled Harry with relief. There was a slight limp in every second step, but it was subtle enough to go unnoticed by any not watching so intently.

The sound of a sob snatched his attention from the door. "James? Are you all right? Do I need to summon a healer?"

"Not that, you fucking dolt." James's unsteady shoulders were hindering his attempts to rub away the tears. "It's just… just…"

Harry crossed the room and slid onto the bed without thinking. James clung to him. Sobs wracked his spine as he cried into Harry's shoulder. "It's all right. You're all right."

"I'm sorry," James sobbed. "It's all my fault. Everything is my fault."

"Don't be stupid."

"Lils…" James could not go on.

"We'll get her back." Harry tightened his embrace. "I swear it, James."

"B-but mum says we don't know where she is! How are we going to find her? What if—"

"No what iffs," Harry cut him off. "Riddle's as good as dead. It's just a matter of time until we have Lily back."

"But—"

"Look at me." James's eyelids blinked and fluttered as he fought against the running tears. "I know Tom Riddle. That's why I was involved on the solstice; I've been working against him for almost an entire year now." Not until acceptance of what he had just said visibly settled over his father's face did he continue. "Riddle's patient until his ego has been wounded. Once things are personal, all the genius starts to slip away. It won't be long before he makes a move, and then we'll have him."

"W-what about Lils?" James asked. "What h-has he done to her?"

"The Imperius Curse," Harry replied. "Once Riddle's dead, the curse will break and we'll have her back."

James drew in four heaving breaths, then hiccupped. "You'll kill him?"

Harry looked his father in the eyes. "Yes."

"Good." James's next breath shuddered. "I'm s-sorry. I rushed in and fucked things up again. You…" James came up short, grappling with his ragged breathing. "You were right."

"I know." There was no use denying it.

James looked down at his hands. "What can I do?"

Harry leant back. "Sorry?"

"What can I do to help find Lils?" James's jaw was set. "I get that you won't teach me. I see why now. So what can I do instead? Unless there's some way I can convince you to change your mind."

Harry hardened his heart. "I'll tell you what I told you before — I'll teach you once I'm confident you won't go rushing in again."

James deflated like a balloon. "I won't," he muttered. "Not after I got Lils kidnapped like that."

"What happened to Lily wasn't your fault."

James shook his head with the vigour of a stubborn child desperate to refute blame. "If I hadn't rushed in—"

"Lily might be dead." Harry broke back in. "She was holding a dagger to her throat when you ran in. That's worth remembering. You definitely distracted me and I won't lie and tell you it's not a part of why Riddle got away, but we don't know what would have happened to Lily had you not run in. I wish you wouldn't have and it was stupid, but Lily wasn't your fault. The first thing you can do is get that through your head and accept it." Knowing better than anyone what guilt could do to an earnest man, he refused to let James bear its wrath unjustly.

James drew in a long breath, shuddering as he let it out. "I'll try."

Harry squeezed his shoulders. "Thank you." They sat in silence for at least half a minute. "Take some time," he told James. "Let your emotions calm a bit."

"Then what?" James asked, sitting at complete attention.

"I don't know." Harry squeezed his father's shoulders yet again. "I wish I did. I don't know what you can do because I don't know how everything's going to play out. And I don't know what it would take for me to think you wouldn't run in again. I just don't know. Sometimes things just have to sort of happen."

James made a face but held his tongue. Silence stretched out for a second time. "You'll kill him, though?" James asked again.

"Yes," Harry assured him with cold hatred pouring from his heart up into his eyes. "I'll kill him."

Narcissa watched the crusty old woman she had been dealing with walk out the door with palpable relief. How could someone admit to being a squib in one breath, then try and lecture a recognized master of enchanting about her own field with the next?

There was a light step from close behind her. "You are learning."

"That's it?" Narcissa asked, turning to face the old artificer. "I think most who've made a study out of easygoing patience would have handled that less smoothly."

"You are not most, are you?" There was a sly curving of her master's lips. "You are Narcissa Black, daughter of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

Narcissa managed not scowl. "Such choice wording you have."

Alden lost the fight against his spreading smirk. "I have ears that function well despite their advanced age and you mutter when frustrated."

Narcissa turned up her nose. "I do not mutter."

"Call it whatever you would like. It is of no concern to me." The artificer's face settled into a more serious expression. "What concerns me is the progress you have made in areas you are ill-suited to. You have learned well since accepting the need for education. Humility suits you, Miss Narcissa Black."

Seldom had Narcissa felt so praised and mocked in the same instance. "Thank you."

"I mean it," Alden insisted. "I know releasing the shroud of cold formality you cloak yourself in has been difficult and I want you to know I understand and appreciate that struggle."

Narcissa dipped her head. "What else is on task today?"

"Nothing urgent," Alden answered. "Most of our commissions are low-priority and of little difficulty, and most are to be completed by the middle of this upcoming week."

The spike of eagerness that flared up inside her slammed into a wall of frustration. "So that means time to pour over Slytherin's wand."

"If that is how you wish to spend your time," Alden said. "The day is yours to do with as you please, my dear."

It was maddening how calm he was concerning their deadends with the wand. His serene implacability despite constant failures made her own frustration feel all the fiercer. "What of you?" she asked. "What are your plans for the day?"

"Little in the way of consequential happenings. I will indulge in academic fascinations and catch a long night's rest, I think."

A vein in Narcissa's jaw twitched. That was either a sloppy evasion of the fact he had private business that evening, or else she was Merlin.

"It's so odd," she murmured aloud once alone inside her study. Alden was among the most polished individuals she had ever met, yet his manner grew clumsy any time he skirted the late night business her grandfather had asked her to stay abreast of.

Looking from the long, dark wand resting on her desk to the three stacks of fruitless notes she had written during long hours of work, Narcissa tapped a finger on the edge of her desk. If one thing Alden had said was true, it was that he would almost certainly spend the afternoon indulging his intrigues.

If that was what he planned on doing, surely she could do the same.

Opening one of her desk drawers, she extracted a piece of parchment and a slim quill charmed to always possess ample ink.

Grandfather,

Learning anything about Alden's personal affairs has been nigh impossible, though there is a certain inconsistency I think you might find interesting…

It was late that afternoon when a healer declared James required rest and gently ushered Harry from the room.

"You'll have an owl from me tomorrow," James promised even as the healer all but blocked Harry from his line of sight. "I'll be damned if some old snake or Europe's tantrums stops us from celebrating your birthday."

Harry wiped his eyes on the way out. Not even the now painful memory of celebrating his last birthday with Lily dampened the dry warmth surging up inside him. In how many dreams had his father said words not unlike those?

The bubble of unfettered joy punctured when he rounded the first corner and came face to face with a grizzled man wearing a long, red cloak trimmed in gold. "Moody."

"Real odd, that. You can still speak well enough and I'm told you passed all your classes well and fine, but you don't seem capable of writing up a letter."

The last vestiges of Harry's bright cheer darkened into grim resolve. "I take it you're not here to protect the Lord Governor or his wife and son."

"I'm here to try and pull that thick head out of your arse," Moody growled at him.

Harry clenched his jaw. "You might as well get lost, then."

Seeing two mundane eyes narrow above Moody's uninjured nose had not yet become normal. "You're making a mistake, lad."

"Probably. It isn't the first and I doubt that it will be the last."

Moody slouched back against the wall. "Will you at least listen if I take the time to flap my gums at you?"

"I'll listen." It was the least he could do for a man like Moody, who himself was not the problem. "Just don't expect my mind to change. If that's what you're after, I'd rather you not waste your time."

"Let's get out of here," Moody said. "Too many ears."

"Where to?" Harry asked, trailing the High Martial down the bright hallway.

"My place should do well enough, unless you've got a better spot." Harry shook his head. "Grab hold, then." Moody touched his sword-shaped pin as Harry clasped the man's right arm. Dark cords tied themselves around his chest, tightening and tightening until their vice receded. The two men were standing on a gravel path, wide enough for two SUVs to drive up side by side. Long grass spanned several acres of open space in all directions, unoccupied but for the single story dwelling up ahead.

"It's not much to look at, but it does the job," the High Martial said, jerking his head toward the long brick house with its shuttered windows and steel roof.

"I'm not really in a position to throw stones," Harry commented. "This is more than I have and not much less than I would want."

"Never been one for all that fancy rubbish," Moody said. "Never saw the point of it, myself. Does nothing but paint a target on your back. If you have things folks want, you'll spend your whole life looking over your shoulder."

"I think you'd do that no matter what you had," Harry said, almost without thinking.

"Aye. There's a difference, though."

"There is," Harry conceded.

There were four iron locks set into the front door. Moody unlocked each with a separate set of wand movements, then pressed his hand against the flat slab of iron that looked as though it should have been a keyhole. There was a fifth click and then the door swung inward.

"YOU!"

Harry flinched so hard, he lurched back several feet. The Elder Wand leapt into his hand as he faced down the hazy outline of a man aged into his middling years. Hard lines encircled his thick lips and murder glinted in his blue eyes.

"Not them, paps," Moody said as though addressing a tiresome acquaintance robbed of wit by age or ailment. "Just Alli." The apparition exploded into a cloud of dust that drifted down and disappeared among the fibres of a black carpet covering the narrow hallway.

"Grim enchantment, that," Harry muttered, reminded forcefully of the protections Moody had placed on Grimmauld Place after Dumbledore had died.

"Aye." Moody reached up and pushed grey hair out of his eyes. "No one ever said constant vigilance was pleasant work." The hallway widened up ahead. There was a blank door on the left wall, opposite a small lounge. "Make yourself at home." Harry seated himself on the rough couch while Moody took an old armchair. "I won't waste either of our time. Tell me what it is that made you snap and if there's anything I can do to get you back on side."

"I'm not off side," Harry clarified. "It's like I told Kingsley on my way out — I don't hold what Krum did against you or anyone on your squadron. I just won't work in any organization that endorses war crimes."

"Slim pickings for your future prospects, then."

"Sunshine and rainbows, you are," Harry replied dryly.

"I tell it like it is. The empire's done great things, and great things don't come cheap. It's the job of men like me to do the dirty things we're not proud of so the world can keep lapping up the peace and ease."

"It's more than just dirty work," Harry insisted. "What we did that first night was dirty work. I don't like doing that kind of thing. I get it, though. It's necessary and it's justified. What Krum did was different."

Moody gave a stiff nod. "It was."

"And you're okay with that?" Harry demanded. "You're okay with standing by and watching people burn alive?"

"Okay with it?" Moody warped the words into a derisive snarl. "What does okay with it have to do with anything? Were you not listening when I said it's our job to do the things we're not proud of?"

"Those things aren't equal," Harry pressed. "What Krum did was a war crime! It—"

"Has ruined any chance I've had of sleeping ever since." That struck Harry still and silent. "What? Did you think you were the only one it shook up?" Moody chuckled. It was a mirthless sound. "Did you think you were special, just because you threw a tantrum?"

Harry set his jaw. This was one point he would not yield on. This was the crossroads of twilight, as Dumbledore had called it. "I did what was right."

"I'd agree with you if that mattered half a damn. Problem is, it doesn't. We're all cogs, working to keep the wheel turning. Cogs don't like the rain, or wet, or cold, just like we don't like some of the things we have to put up with. It's all right to not like it. It's all right to be upset. But if we rust away, the wheel stops turning. If the wheel stops turning…" Moody let the statement hang.

Harry grimaced. "So what you're telling me is that I should give up everything I care about just to keep the status quo alive?"

"What I'm saying is that you need to look at the bigger picture and keep that in mind. You can't help anything by walking away. If you have a problem with the way things are, then help change them for the better. Don't just walk away when things are tough and good men are needed more than ever."

"But things won't change, will they?" Bitterness leaked into those harsh words in spite of his best efforts. "It's like you said, we're just cogs in a wheel."

"I've seen the things you've done, boy." Moody gave him a hard look. "Let's not play modest — you're not like the rest of us. You're one of those folks who can make a real difference."

"Not here. Not with men like Krum." The sick fuck was just like the foreign dignitaries they had tried reasoning with during Voldemort's European conquest. They had all been too consumed in their own ways to consider changing them, even when danger knocked on their front door. Krum was no different..

"You've seen one side of Krum and you've written him off," Moody accused him.

Harry looked hard into Moody's face. "Can you honestly tell me that I'm wrong?"

"It wouldn't matter if I did," Moody pointed out. "You're as set in your own ways as you think he is." Harry did not flinch or look away, nor did he rise to the High Martial's challenge. "What would it take?"

"For me to come back?" Harry cocked his head, considering. "It would take an explanation from Krum — not just about why he burned those men alive, but about why doing it was wrong."

Moody knuckled his eyes. "Lad—"

"That's my answer," Harry told him. "Until Krum acknowledges that there's a better way, he'll never change. So long as men like him stay in charge, this will keep happening."

"Damn you," Moody growled, shaking his head. "You're more stubborn than a rash and twice as hard to deal with, yet I can't help but like you."

Narcissa had not realized how many hours had ticked by until she looked up at the clock. The wand had entirely consumed her ever since she'd sent off her letter and settled her focus onto it. The stubborn stick of wood betrayed all common conventions. No matter how she probed it, the blasted artifact acted as though it was void of all enchantments.

Her mind was buzzing as she stood and headed for her study's door. This had to be their primary focus. There was no use trying to identify what the wand could do or what sort of magic was protecting it. Instead of trying to circumvent the barrier, they had to understand it. Which meant her and Alden had to put their heads together and puzzle out how it was resisting all attempts to glean its nature. Brute force would not serve them. They had a large enough sample size to prove it.

Only when in the hallway did she come up short. "Styx," she cursed under her breath. Alden was unavailable for the evening, locked away so he could conduct his private business.

Narcissa crept down the hall, past the two bedrooms, two studies, one bathroom, and one conference room. All of these were on her left and right.

Then there was the seventh door, set into the hallway's deadend wall. It was black where the other six were brown, and it had a silver handle in place of common brass.

Narcissa paused mere feet in front of it. She did not probe its wards or attempt to gain passage. She simply stood and stared, as she had often done during the past handful of evenings.

Brute force would be as useless here as it had been when pouring over the wand. Alden Vieilla was too skilled by half and about as thorough as a man could be. If the outer ward scheme and silver handle were the most daunting of this door's protections, she would kiss that muggle boy who had tried ensnaring her with promises of fancy trinkets.

The protections were not what intrigued her, anyway.

Far more interesting was what they were in place for.

What sort of business did a man who shared secret knowledge like cheap candy think was so important, it had to be safe-guarded?

"The affairs of the world are controlled by fortune and by God, but men can act as instruments of both."

— Niccolò Machiavelli

A special thank you to my high-tier patron, Cup, for her generous and unwavering support.

PS: The next chapter will be out in two weeks. Remember that chapters can be read early on Discord and P*T*E*N! All those links are on my profile, and if any give you trouble, use my website's homepage. That site can be found via a generic Google search of my pen name.