Chapter Thirty-Two: Robert's Folly

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The trajectory of Harry's life had slowly descended into something he didn't quite understand. Normal no longer existed; at least not as he had known it. Though if he was honest with himself, he had known a lot of normals.

There was the normal he had enjoyed with his parents once. A true normal, when he was a toddler with a perfect family. Two parents who loved him, who were perfectly alive, and a horcrux that wasn't. But he didn't remember that normal, so he supposed it didn't really count.

But he could count all the normals he did remember. All those years with the Dursleys that he had thought were normal for one, if normal included growing up in a cupboard. And then there were those first few years at Hogwarts, when things were so… fun. Voldemort had been a part of that normal too, but he'd always glossed over that. What did it matter if something awful happened every June, so long as he had Ron and Hermione by his side for the remainder of the time? Still preferable to life with the Dursleys full-time. And then that normal got darker too, with the horror of Voldemort more prevalent. Voldemort trying to kill him — that was normal. Accepting that he must become a murderer, should he wish to survive. Well, he'd done that. Or thought he did.

Many things had drawn his perception of "normal" into question. Living as Daniyel for six months had certainly thrown his world off-kilter. But he'd adjusted to that, too. And then his normal became something beautiful. No more Voldemort. No more guilt. No more strange powers he didn't want, because he'd managed to lock them all away. So that left him with just years of nothing but time. Time to replace Uncle Vernon, and Aunt Petunia, and Dudley with Sirius, and Ella, and the others. Time to laugh. To build a life of his own.

He loved that normal; had grown comfortable in it. Had held steadily to it, even when darkness came with a chisel and started stripping pieces of it away. Maybe that was why this new normal — the one where every morning the first person he saw was Tom Riddle and not Ella — was so much harder to accept.

[Good morning] Riddle would whisper silkily, before Harry even had a chance to open his eyes. [I sure missed you, Harry. Did you miss me?] As if his every dream and nightmare weren't already haunted; didn't already host this vile, evil creature.

And every morning Harry would whisper, "Occlumens," and for a time, Riddle would vanish. And Harry would open his eyes to see Ella beside him. And he would smile, and tell her that no, Riddle wasn't there — because right then, he wasn't — and the day would begin.

He could pretend it was a regular day, whatever constituted "regular" lately. They would have breakfast, if there was time. And he would go with Ella to her appointments when possible. Or he would head to headquarters. But the shadow of Riddle would hang over him. A silence that was conspicuous. His absence a promise. And sure enough, when Ella was halfway through her shot, or when Harry would step into the lifts — or sit down at his desk if he was particularly lucky — Riddle would reappear.

[Did you miss me, Harry?] he would whisper. Or, [That was a good bit of Occlumency this time. Imagine how long it would last if you'd just be willing to tap into your power. Your real power, Harry.] And his words would echo in Harry's mind. Boldly. Cruelly.

And the regular day would shatter.

If only he were a better Occlumens. If only he were willing, as Riddle himself had said, to tap into the well of power that Slytherin had provided him, he was sure that he could block the horcrux out for good. But he had decided, long ago. He wouldn't use that power.

Not ever.

[That is what makes you so weak] Riddle had informed him, slipping through his Occlumency prison for the umpteenth time. [Fear, Harry. The strong use fear, you see. It is a means of control. And the weak? Well. They are afraid.]

He wasn't afraid of his power; simply disgusted by it. A distinction Riddle clearly lacked the capacity to understand.

So Harry pushed on. And his days fell into a rhythm: Occlumency in the mornings, and then biting remarks from Riddle, and Occlumency, and Occlumency, and Occlumency.

And it was exhausting.

He was exhausted.

Rookwood seemed to have vanished beneath the face of the earth, and the list from Mysteries had yielded nothing. No other horcruxes had been found. All their leads had dried up, and Saul was untouchable. His back was pressed so tightly to the grindstone that some days he could barely think straight by the time he finally stumbled into bed. And Riddle was always there, waiting.

So sometimes, he didn't whisper, "Occlumens" anymore, and the biting remarks remained. And he ignored that little voice. Because sometimes that was easier. Hoped that that was all right. That Riddle wasn't an open line to Voldemort, wherever he was. That the wizard who continued to haunt him was not attuned to his every move. His every thought.

Sometimes, in frustration, he thought that it didn't even matter. Because there were no moves. Nothing was happening. And aside from the voice in his head, things were still and quiet and oddly calm. No strange incidents. No sightings of anyone. And the incident at Mysteries was fading further and further into the past, until even the Prophet stopped mentioning it at every opportunity. A week passed after the fruitless visit to Margaret Croaker's mansion. And then another. Ella started her 5th round of chemo, with her numbers coming back at 501.

The number pleased Hannah, and made Harry grin at Ella, who smiled tentatively back.

"It's not as big a drop as last time," she'd said nervously. But Hannah had explained that as the numbers dropped, the percentages would drop as well. Over 50%, she said, was excellent. And even Ella had found it hard to contain her excitement. This, too, was a new normal; these treatments, and blood draws, and numbers that had stretched on for weeks. And now they were approaching the lower hundreds at last. The end not quite there yet, but the shape of it nearly in sight. The outline dark enough for them to shade it in with just a bit of hope.

He wanted hope. Needed it, for every aspect of his life. To keep holding up the ever-burning candle before both sides ran out of wax. So he let it seep through him, until it drummed in his ears, almost loud enough to drown out the ever-present voice of Riddle.

And then it was Tuesday afternoon, and Harry walked into headquarters after accompanying Ella to Hannah's, and paused; because Ernie was there in the middle of the floor, chatting.

And on the other end of that conversation was Robert.

"Harry!" Ernie waved him over enthusiastically. Behind him, Robert briefly met Harry's eyes and looked away, and Harry felt his heart sink before Ernie even finished speaking.

"Just in time. Murphie's here to make a statement. He's remembered something about the attack."

And all that hope in Harry's chest burst into a million sharp little pieces.

It didn't take long before they were sequestered in one of the interview rooms. Just Harry, and Ernie, and Robert, and the Record Sphere. All of it terribly official. And Robert sat there, avoided Harry's eyes, and said exactly the things Harry had suspected he had come for.

The things he'd been hoping Robert wouldn't say.

"Are you sure," Harry pressed, when the speaking was done, and the room had settled into silence, "that you're remembering this correctly?"

"Yes," Robert said, meeting his eyes. His hands, clasped neatly on the table, didn't so much as twitch.

"We gotta take this to Robards," Ernie said. "This is big! Do you remember anything else? Was he—"

"Rob." Harry glanced briefly at the glowing blue sphere, which was cementing every word in perpetuity. But Robert was watching him with a stubborn glint in his eyes, and he could see no way around it. He lifted his wand and touched it to the Record Sphere, until the blue glow vanished.

"Harry, what are you doing!" Ernie gasped.

Harry ignored him. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Harry! You can't pause a Record Sphere and have an off-record conversation with a witness!" Ernie cried, aghast.

"It was a long time ago." Harry tried to instill his voice with calm. With reason. To ignore Ernie.. "Weeks now. Rob, you were in shock when it happened. You didn't remember this until just now. Do you really want to rush into—"

"I'm not rushing into anything," Robert said calmly. "I've thought long and hard about this before coming in, Harry."

"There you go," Ernie said helpfully. "I'm sure Murphie wouldn't make this type of statement without fully considering—"

"Ernie," Harry said, pressing a hand briefly across his face. "Could you give us the room? Please."

"But—"

"Just for a minute."

"All right then." Ernie stood up, shuffling to the door. Harry waited until it snapped closed behind him. Robert eyed him warily across the table.

"Rob," Harry said finally, his voice pleading. "Don't do this."

"I have to," Robert said abruptly. "You know this has to be done."

"No, it doesn't." Harry lowered his voice despite the soundproof walls. "It's not too late. I can still sort something out. Give Ernie some story—"

"Like what?" Robert said with mild curiosity.

"It doesn't— Would you take this seriously? Giving false evidence is perjury. Not to mention obstruction. You could be sent to Azkaban, Rob."

"I know that." Robert looked unmoved.

"You can't just come in here, weeks later, and accuse Saul of complicity in this." Harry tried a different track. "We don't even know why he took those books. What if he's innocent?"

"And what if he isn't?" Robert said evenly. "Let it go, Harry. Your hands are tied, all right? You need someone to be the catalyst to launch this investigation. You know that. You can't give Robards a reason to do it. But I can."

"That doesn't mean that you have to," Harry said in frustration.

"You were the only one who could stop Voldemort." Robert's voice was quiet. "Did that mean that you had to?"

Harry sighed. "Rob, c'mon. You've sacrificed enough. Don't do this."

"Look," Robert said, ignoring the comment. "Guilty, innocent, I don't know. Honestly, I hope he's innocent. I do. Do you think I want to tarnish his name if that's the case? But we can't do anything on our own. We need the reach. At least now you can look into him officially. And if all that takes is me saying I've remembered a questionable exchange between Saul and the Ministry intruder that puts his loyalties into question, then that's what I'll say. Don't waste your chance."

Harry learned forward, rubbing his eyes until they felt sore. "You can't keep saving all the kittens," he said quietly. "There won't be enough of you to go around."

Robert was frowning when he looked back up. "You're talking about sacrifices. You're the one ready to give up your life here, Harry."

And Harry didn't quite have anything to say to that. So he said nothing, and an uneasy silence fell between them.

[Saul Croaker] Riddle whispered in his ear, slipping out from some crevice somewhere in his mindscape. [Saul Croaker and Rookwood. Fascinating, really. Aren't you going to ask me what I think, Harry? Really let me deep dive it for you.]

[I don't give a fuck what you think] Harry thought back furiously, closing his eyes to visualize the bloody horcrux. Riddle was standing in the black, looking terribly amused. [Go away.]

[You should. My horcruxes. My followers. Who would know better than me? Ask me, Harry. Go on. Stop stumbling around in the dark. Let me tell you what I know.]

[Right. And in return I give you eternal life, and become your human puppet? No thanks.]

[You would join my cause. You foolishly talk of puppets. I am offering you a partnership.]

[A partnership?] Harry scoffed. [What makes you mad enough to think I'd ever want a partnership with you. Do you reckon you'll wear me down? You won't.]

[Won't I?] Riddle smirked and offered Harry a mocking bow before fading into the background.

Harry sighed and opened his eyes again, meeting Robert's gaze across the barren table. "Why didn't you just come to me?" he said finally. "Why Ernie?"

"Because you would have tried to talk me out of it," Robert said plainly, folding his arms across his chest. "Now it's too late."

Too late. Well he was probably right about that. Harry wasn't sure he could keep Ernie quiet, even if he broke protocol and destroyed the entire record.

"All right." He reached out, his wand hovering inches from the Record Sphere. "You want to do this? Fine, I won't stop you. But Rob, I swear. If this doesn't pan out, I don't know if I have the reach…"

"Then I'll face the consequences," Robert said quietly. "I'm prepared, Harry. Whatever happens."

Harry nodded and finally touched his wand to the sphere until it glowed blue again. Then he got up slowly and pulled open the door, waiving Ernie back into the room.

"Log Rob's statement into the archive. I'll bring this to Robards; see if he'll authorize a warrant to search the Croaker residence. And be discreet," Harry added as Ernie directed his wand at the sphere. "The Prophet will have a field day if they find out. If Saul's alive, I'd rather keep him in the dark for as long as possible."

Across the table, Robert watched the sphere float away after a marginally happier-looking Ernie, saying nothing; the slight paling of his face the only betrayal of his composure. Or perhaps it was simply the blue glow touching his skin.

Still, if he was afraid, Harry could hardly blame him. Shit was about to hit the bloody fan.

"Five more books on the Dark Arts flagged as restricted by the Ministry," Rose Zeller said, levitating them in front of Harry with her wand. "Found them up near the top."

Harry shrugged, glancing over the covers. The titles weren't familiar, but he had never bothered to memorize the restricted book list, on account that he wasn't Hermione. "Bag them."

They were standing in the vast library of Saul Croaker's mansion, which they had been working their way through for the past several hours. He could see it would be several hours more (several days, really) to search and catalog the entire place. There were enough rooms here to fill the whole Great Hall of Hogwarts.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"Not really," Rose said. "But I reckon there must be a secret chamber or something with a secret entrance somewhere. Probably behind a bookshelf. I bet it leads to an underground lair where there's a whole bunch of dark shit. Maybe Croaker's even hiding out in there."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Right. If you find that, do let me know, would you?"

"Oh, I will," Rose said seriously, and she walked away, the books floating ahead of her.

Harry sighed and glanced around the library. Daniyel, Ron, and Ernie were spread around the room, each tackling a different section. He was going to have to talk to Robards about expanding the search team. So much for keeping this venture small. Just then, he spotted Margaret Croaker hovering in the doorway. She was looking into the library with her lips drawn tight. A house elf stood beside her.

"Mrs. Croaker," Harry said, approaching her. "Please, you can't be here. Where is Auror Wilson?"

She ignored the question, leading with one of her own. "Why are you doing this? My husband was a good man."

"I'm truly sorry," Harry said, and he meant it. "But like I've explained, we've had a witness step forward with information about Saul that we need to investigate. We'll need to speak with you as well, so if you could return to the sitting room and wait with Auror Wilson in the meantime—"

"My husband was a hero," Margaret said, cutting him off. "They've told me so. They said he tried to stop the explosion at the Ministry."

"And no one is saying that isn't true," Harry said calmly. "But we still need to follow through with this lead. I'm sure you understand—"

"I don't understand," she snapped. "I don't understand a single thing. I don't understand why these people are pawing through Saul's things, or why—" And then she broke off abruptly with a gasp, and pushed past Harry into the library.

"Mrs. Croaker!" he called, hurrying after her.

"I— I don't believe this!" she cried, storming further into the room. "Robert! Why are you—"

"I'm Ron Weasley, actually," Ron said apologetically, stepping away from the bookshelf he had been browsing. "I'm an Auror."

"Ron Weasley," Margaret repeated, staring at him, the shock seeping out of her voice. "Of course. My, you really…" She turned back to Harry, suddenly looking rather small and lost in the vast and towering room. "But you do know Robert, do you not, Auror Potter? He was just here very recently. With Ella. Your wife, isn't she? They sat with me. We had tea together, for Merlin's sake. Have they said something to you? Is that why you're…" Her voice shook slightly and faded. Beside her, the house elf was twisting its hands in a way that reminded Harry horribly of Dobby when he had done something wrong.

"No, that isn't what happened, Mrs. Croaker," Harry said uncomfortably. Ron raised an eyebrow at him, which he pointedly ignored. "We've received information that Saul may have known the intruder at the Ministry. We have to follow up on this."

"But who could have said such a thing!" she cried indignantly. "Saul would never."

"I can't say, unfortunately," Harry said, for what felt like the hundredth time. Not that he could really blame her. "But I'm afraid I'm going to have to escort you back to the sitting room."

"I don't need an escort," she said sharply. "Come, Alvie!" And she hurried out of the library, the elf trailing after her.

"Where the hell is Wilson?" Harry said, sighing in frustration. "He's supposed to be watching her."

"Dunno, mate, but you better get on that," Ron said unhelpfully.

"Yeah." Harry turned and hurried out of the library, hoping to intercept Margaret before she went somewhere else she shouldn't in her own bloody house. It would be just absolutely perfect if he lost her. Or if she altered something that could be evidence under their watch. It would be best to just question her now and ask her to leave the premises until they concluded their search.

[Suspecting the old hag now?] Riddle sounded amused. [You should. Women. They're devious bitches, aren't they?]

[Shut up,] Harry snapped, his temper flaring. [I don't need you here, fucking up my investigation.]

Riddle smirked. [You're doing a fine job of that all on your own, Harry. Encouraging perjury. Logging false evidence. I didn't think you had it in you. I rather think I'm… my, is this pride?]

Harry said nothing, scowling.

[Why yes, I believe it is. I believe I'm proud of you, Harry.]

[I don't need you to be proud of me.]

[But you do need answers. I could give them to you.]

[This again?] Harry sighed in frustration, loud enough to startle a Junior Auror hurrying along the corridor.. [How long will it take to get it through your thick skull that I want nothing to do with you?]

[Even if the information is freely given?] Riddle said softly.

[Right. No thanks.]

[A piece of Lord Voldemort's soul at your disposal] Riddle pressed, his eyes gleaming. [You want information on Rookwood? You want to know how Saul fits in? I can give that to you, Harry. Don't be a fool.]

[I don't need anything from you] Harry snapped.

[You mean you wouldn't trust anything from me] Riddle said, unfazed. [What purpose would it serve to lie to you, Harry? You are my host. You must realize that it is in our best interest to work together.]

Harry nearly laughed aloud at that. [Work together. You don't know how to work together, Tom. You said you want a partnership? But everything's about you, isn't it? If you're giving me information, it's only because it helps you somehow. I have no interest in that.]

Up ahead, he saw Margaret approaching the door of the sitting room and hurried to catch up, shutting the voice of Voldemort away. "Mrs. Croaker! Wait. I need to ask you a few questions."

"What sort of questions?" Margaret turned around to face him, just as a frantic-looking Wilson stuck his head out of the room.

"Sir!" he said, addressing Harry. "I'm so sorry, I stepped away for a second, and she slipped out."

"It's fine," Harry said shortly. "Go help search the library. Ron can direct you."

"Yes, sir." Wilson hurried away, leaving Harry alone with Margaret.

"He's not very competent, is he?" she said. "Like the rest of you."

Harry sighed. "Mrs. Croaker, I—"

"Ask your questions," she said abruptly. "I promise, I don't know anything that will help you. But Merlin knows, I won't have it said that I impeded your investigation, no matter how ridiculous it is. We happen to hold the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the law itself in very high regard in this household. If you had known my husband at all, you would be aware of that."

"All right," Harry said, and he withdrew his wand, drawing several arcs through the air until a Record Sphere appeared. He considered asking her to take a seat, but thought better of it. Instead, he settled into one of the empty armchairs and waited. Margaret eyed him briefly, then sat down across from him. Harry poked the sphere with his wand until it glowed blue, inscribing it with the date, time, and location. Then he turned to Margaret.

"Please state your full name for the record."

"Margaret Annabelle Croaker," she said icily, glaring at him from across the room.

"Thank you," Harry said. "Now, can you please tell me everything you know about the relationship between your husband, Saul Croaker, and Augustus Rookwood?"

A/N: Happy Lunar New Year, if you celebrate ! :)