Chapter 21
Despite his feelings towards such magic, Harry couldn't deny that the Horcrux resting on the table in front of him was indeed a remarkable feat of magic.
Having retrieved the diadem from the Room of Requirement, he'd spent the past several days studying it.
What he found was as curious as it was dangerous, more so than his seventeen-year-old self could possibly have fathomed.
Fortunately, it had not been in his possession long when he'd first taken it from the room, given it was destroyed by Fiendfyre shortly after.
In hindsight, it was the best possible outcome for Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
The fragment of soul within was as volatile as one would expect, with it belonging to Voldemort, but it was the carefully layered curses placed upon the diadem which were more concerning, one of which was tied to the Defence Against the Dark Arts position within the school.
Harry suspected Riddle had only been able to enact such a curse as he was a direct descendant of Slytherin, but that did not take away the brilliance he'd demonstrated in doing so.
For the most part, the curse was passive magic, and would go unnoticed unless someone had found the diadem itself.
Nonetheless, it had not been so difficult to remove it, and Harry had done so upon discovering the magic layered together.
As with the others he'd come into contact with, the Horcrux proved to be as malignant, probing the recesses of his mind in a bid to make him submit to its will.
Harry had not done so, and though he was yet to destroy it, he now knew it was the only way to be rid of the soul that clung so diligently to the vessel it was placed within.
He'd hoped the diadem could be preserved, but with so little known about the obscure, imprecise magic, he would not take any foolish risks.
With a shake of his head, he placed it back in the box he'd created to store it.
Whilst it was within, the effects of the soul piece were significantly dampened, but Harry knew he could not delay the inevitable for much longer,
It would have to be destroyed sooner rather than later.
With the Horcrux stored, he turned the wireless off before taking his leave of the basement.
For days, he'd been listening for any announcement notifying the public of Greyback's escape, but Albus had proven to be correct in his assumption that the ICW was reluctant to reveal what had occurred.
It was frustrating but only added credence to Harry's thoughts on the matter.
Albus may be proven right in his belief that someone from the ICW was involved. Harry, however, was certain that Voldemort was.
Still, such a thought brought him little comfort.
Greyback was once again at large, and regardless of who was involved in seeing it so, the world was worse off for it.
Harry couldn't fathom why the werewolf had been allowed to live.
With all he'd done, he'd expected the man to be executed for his crimes, but it seemed that every country he'd operated in wanted their pound of flesh.
As such, he'd been left to rot in prison whilst each built their cases against him in a bid to be the one to administer the punishment, and now, none would have to honour of doing so.
Again, posturing politics had gotten in the way of justice, much like he'd seen from the Wizengamot here in Britain.
Harry had been a victim of it himself when he'd been brought to trial for defending himself and Dudley from the Dementors. Fudge and Umbridge had been so keen to see him expelled that they'd seriously overstepped.
The latter more than the former, but they'd done so, nonetheless.
The ICW was likely similar, just on a grander scale than domestic politics, and being grander only meant that the corruption was more severe.
It was indeed a dangerous entity but no less corrupt.
Not that anything could be done about it.
The ICW was at the very top of Wizarding governance, and not even Dumbledore could prevent filthy politicking as the Supreme Mugwump.
Once more, Harry found himself frustrated but chose not to dwell on the things he could not control. Instead, he opted to take the floo to Hogwarts, where he was due to begin the first meeting of the duelling club, something he was looking forward to through the mire of his political discontent.
Arriving in the empty Great Hall, where he would be hosting the club, he could hear the excited students on the other side of the door, and Harry wondered just how many had arrived to participate.
Clearing the house tables to the sides of the room, he erected a platform in the centre before opening the door to greet those who wished to attend and was taken aback by the sheer number of those he was faced with.
Most of the students were here, speaking animatedly among themselves.
"I think I'm going to need a little help with this," Harry murmured.
"I thought as much," a squeaky voice replied.
Harry looked down and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Professor Flitwick smiling up at him.
"I am glad to see you, Filius," he chuckled. "I didn't expect this many."
"Then it is a good thing the rest of us did," the diminutive man replied. "Minerva and Horace will be along shortly to assist you."
Harry nodded appreciatively and gestured for the man to enter.
"This what I am planning to do with them," he explained, handing Filius a roll of parchment to read through.
When he was done, he nodded his approval.
"It is a good place to start," he observed. "Going back to basics will be good for all of them, even those that think they are better than they are."
"Exactly," Harry agreed. He'd done the same thing with the DA when he started teaching his fellow students, and though some had objected, it had benefitted them greatly when their egos had been checked.
"Well, shall we let them in?" Filius asked.
Harry nodded and opened the door to admit the students and was inundated with greetings as they filed in.
Minerva and Horace followed at the end of the long line, shepherding in the stragglers.
Once they were inside, Harry found himself exceedingly grateful for the three professors taking it upon themselves to assist him.
The students had arrived in vast numbers and were surrounding the platform.
It was one thing to teach classes of around thirty, but Harry had never had such a large group before.
Not even the DA had been as popular as this duelling club.
Perhaps he had finally taken on more than he could handle.
Nonetheless, he cleared his throat loudly as he stepped onto the platform, and the students fell steadily silent.
"Before we begin, there are rules that all of you will abide by if you wish to take part in this club," Harry said firmly. "You are here to learn the art of duelling, but if there are any incidents of anyone using what you have learned to intimidate, bully, or cause harm to others, you will no longer be welcome here. This is the first and only time I will warn you. There will be no second chances. If you don't think you can exercise the necessary self-control, I would urge you to leave now."
None did, and Harry nodded satisfactorily.
"Good," he declared as he began walking the length of the platform. "To begin with, we will be covering the very basics. That means the pleasantries expected of you, sportsmanship, and beginning a duel."
"Some of us already know that," a voice from the gathered students called.
"Then you will be able to demonstrate it expertly for those that do not," Harry returned. "As Professor Flitwick is an accomplished duellist in his own right, I would ask that he explain the courtesies."
Harry stepped off the platform as Flitwick stepped on and watched as the man talked the students through the pre-duel rituals.
For the students, it was likely rather dull and not what they came here for, but this was a duelling club, and they would learn the correct way to duel.
Having considered what he would teach, Harry decided he would take this route. Having them learn even the most inane of things would be useful for those who wished to become duellists but also serve to weed out those who were here for the wrong reasons.
"Thank you, Professor Flitwick," he called as his former colleague finished his explanation. "We will be working on those necessities over the coming weeks, but for the rest of today's session, I would like to see how well you can aim your spells. I will not let you loose until I am confident your aim is acceptable. Now, form up into four lines. You will be taking turns hitting the targets with the disarming charm. We will be offering pointers to those that need them."
The students complied, though some grumbled unhappily as they did so.
With a wave of his wand, Harry created a series of targets in front of each group of various sizes, and as he set them to work, he realised it had been a good idea to begin with this.
Very few of the students were accurate enough to hit anything smaller than the largest target and even fewer, the second largest.
By the time each had completed their turn, Harry could count on one hand how many were accurate enough to have hit all of them.
"We will go again," he announced, conjuring some even smaller targets for those who had performed well.
"It's impossible," one of the older Hufflepuffs groaned.
"No, it just takes practice," Harry said encouragingly. "The more you do it, the better you'll get. I imagine Professor Flitwick could shave a fly's eyebrows from fifty feet."
Flitwick nodded thoughtfully.
"I might have to try that one," he chuckled. "Come along, there are a few tips I can give you."
Once more, the students lined up, and Harry, along with the rest of the staff, corrected the stances and wand positions of those who were struggling, improving their aim immediately.
It was something they would need to continue to practice, but seeing their delighted expressions as they performed better than their first attempts reminded him of how much he'd enjoyed teaching the DA so many years prior.
"Get out of the way, you filthy little mudblood! It's my turn," a voice snarled, pulling Harry from his musings.
He looked towards where the commotion was coming from to see a large, blonde boy garbed in silver and green trimmed robes shoving a much smaller Ravenclaw student to the side.
The boy fell to the ground, and some of the other Slytherins began to laugh and jeer at him.
Doing his utmost to remain composed, Harry stalked towards the instigator and disarmed him with a flick of his wand.
The young man was taken aback by the intervention, though he puffed himself up to his full height.
"Would you kindly repeat what you just said, Mr Rowle?" Harry requested.
Rowle appeared to be confused.
"He tried to push in front of me," he defended.
"I'm not interested in what he did. I'd like for you to repeat exactly what you said."
"I told the filthy mudblood to get out of my way."
"I thought as much," Harry murmured. "Now, not only have you said something to offend the majority of people in this room, but me also. You are going to apologise for using that slur, and if I hear it again from you or anyone else, you will be out of the door so fast your feet will not touch the ground."
"For calling him a…"
Harry held up a hand to prevent Rowle from repeating the word.
"Hogwarts is a place of tolerance, where all who possess the ability to wield magic are welcome to be educated without fear of being discriminated against because of the circumstances of their birth. How would you feel if I started referring to you and the other pureblood students as filthy inbreds?"
Rowle scowled at him.
"Well?" Harry pressed.
"I wouldn't," Rowle muttered.
"Exactly," Harry sighed. "Being a pureblood, half-blood, or even a muggleborn has no bearing on somebody's ability here or even outside of the castle. One of the most brilliant witches I've ever met was a muggle-born and two of the most powerful half-bloods. One of them is the current headmaster of this school. Now, you are all free to think and believe what you wish, but I will not tolerate you spewing your prejudices here. I am a half-blood, as are Professors Flitwick and McGonagall. You will all curb keep a civil tongue in your head during this club, and if you can't, you will leave. That goes for all of you," Harry warned. "There will be no slurs towards any insulting their ancestry. Am I making myself clear?"
"Yes, Professor Jameson," the students chorused, some less enthusiastically than others.
"I'm not a Professor, but thank you. All I expect from you is a level of mutual respect, especially as we will be delving into some rather dangerous magicks whilst we are here. Now, let us move on to something more pleasant. All of you have already shown improvement. The next time we meet, we will begin practicing some new spells and finding alternative uses for spells you should already know. When we have built up our repertoire, we can then begin creating sequences of spells by chaining them together from one directly into another. There is a lot of work ahead of us. Thank you for coming."
The students took the cue to leave, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.
"You handle that very well, Harry," Filius offered. "It has been a problem within the school for some time."
"Well, I won't tolerate in here," Harry replied. "If it is not dealt with, it can become rather dangerous, especially with what we've already seen happening outside the castle."
Filius nodded his agreement.
"I share the same concern. I do not wish for it to become the norm, though I fear it already has for many of them."
It had.
Despite putting his message across firmly, Harry knew it would make little difference outside the duelling club.
Many of the students here had parents and other family members who were so ardent in their beliefs that it was inevitable they would adopt them.
Harry had always wondered why it was that Voldemort had managed to gather so much support but being in here this evening had shown him.
Many of those who'd attended the club tonight would go on to be some of the more prolific Death Eaters in the years to come. It was an unsettling thought at what they would do to others, but Harry wasn't sure if he could prevent it, not with the influence already affecting so many.
Nonetheless, he would try.
He was only one man, but if he could prevent even one from falling into Tom Riddle's trap, the effort alone would be worth it.
(Break)
Taking corpses from cemeteries was tedious work.
Each grave had to be meticulously checked to ensure the body had not decomposed beyond use, dug up, and then re-buried to ensure his subterfuge was not discovered.
Nonetheless, having spent many nights across several countries throughout the continent, he had finally obtained his seven-hundredth subject to be placed in the cave as a line of defence.
With a smile tugging at his lips, he activated his portkey, and only a dizzying moment later, he arrived at the place where one of his Horcruxes would rest.
His gaze swept across the breadth of the enormous cavern, and with a satisfied nod, he began removing the several shrunken trunks from within his robes.
Emptying the contents into the still water, he resized the bodies with a wave of his wand.
The stench of rotting flesh alone would deter most from poking their noses in, but the Dark Lord's plan was much more sinister.
He wanted none to escape who may happen upon this place, and if the potion didn't get them, the hundreds of dead would not fail.
Disrobing, he rolled up his sleeves and prepared to cast the necessary magic.
Such a spell on this grand scale would leave him depleted for days, but it would be worth it.
It wasn't as though he hadn't planned for the eventuality whilst considering which country he wished to visit next.
Bulgaria had become rather dull in recent days, and the ever-restless Lord Voldemort had a hunger for a new place to investigate and new magicks to add to his arsenal.
He'd been doing so for years now, not just to satiate his hunger to be the most powerful wizard on the planet, but because he'd always sought knowledge wherever it was to be found.
Thus far, among many others, he had exhausted France, Germany, Poland, and a myriad of countries in the Middle East, and yet, there were many other places on his list.
For now, however, his priority was to secure another of his Horcruxes so that if the unthinkable were to happen, his continued existence was guaranteed.
With a flourish of his wand, the Dark Lord began to chant, putting one of the spells he'd discovered in a tome that would see him serve several years in Azkaban if he was caught with it to use.
The corpses continued to float lazily across the water's surface, but as the limbs began to twitch, Lord Voldemort doubled his efforts, smiling triumphantly as the dead thrashed in protest against his efforts.
(Break)
"Fiendfyre," Harry murmured, aiming his wand at the diadem.
The flames consumed the seemingly innocuous adornment, and the resulting force sent him skidding backwards across the floor of the basement.
When the eerie scream of fury ceased, he extinguished the spell and vanished the small pile of ashes left behind.
He truly had hoped to salvage Ravenclaw's creation, but at the risk of unleashing something deeply unpleasant on the world, it had needed to be sacrificed.
With the diadem gone, Tom was one Horcrux less, and the curses he'd placed upon it broken by the destructive fire.
It was, of course, for the best.
With that task taken care of, Harry shifted his attention to the other, less simple matter he'd been looking into and shook his head at how little information was freely available.
Since the day Amelia had arrived in this very room after another attempt had been made on her life, Harry had been trying to deduce who had been behind it.
As simple as it would be to blame it on Voldemort, he did not suspect the man's involvement in this.
No, Harry was convinced that whoever was responsible for the death of Amelia's parents had been biding their time and taken the opportunity to eliminate the woman because she'd been investigating the murder herself.
It was the only logical conclusion that made sense, and though Harry was no closer to figuring out who could and would orchestrate such an attempt, the more he pondered it, the more he believed the nagging thought that there was much more to all of this than he could fathom.
Still, with so little to go on, he was at a loss.
He did not wish to raise it with Amelia, who would only get her hopes up or be utterly furious that he had taken it upon himself to investigate the matter so deeply.
That left him very much alone to obtain further information unless he was to raise it with the one person who could perhaps assist him, though he was reluctant to do so.
It wasn't that he didn't trust Dumbledore, but the man would have questions Harry was neither willing nor ready to answer. However, there seemed to be little choice.
Releasing a deep breath as he weighed up the pros and cons of doing so, he returned the few newspaper articles he'd acquired, along with his own notes in the trunk he kept them in.
He was due to join the Bones family for dinner shortly and staring at the far-from-complete puzzle laid out before him only served to induce a headache.
Perhaps he would be better served to leave it well alone, but Harry knew how much it meant to Amelia.
The woman had dedicated her life to bringing justice to others when none had been given to her and her two brothers.
Nonetheless, it was a complex case, and Harry feared that somewhere along the line, he would uncover something he wished he hadn't.
People were not murdered in such a way without reason, and though he didn't believe Amelia's parents were involved willingly in anything nefarious, he still did not wish to tarnish the memory their children had of them.
Still, if he were to continue to pursue this with any success, the truth would have to come out, no matter how unpleasant or harrowing it was.
That thought alone often gave him pause and consider if he was indeed doing the right thing.
For now, it was something he could not answer, and pondering it without further progress would achieve nothing.
With that very thought continuing to occupy his mind, however, he decided to ready himself by showering for the evening ahead.
(Break)
"Well, look what the kneazle dragged in," Jenny declared mockingly as Amelia entered the examination room.
"Ha,Ha," the Auror huffed. "It's been busy."
"I know," Jenny assured her. "It always is when the Quidditch season is on. How bad has it been?"
"Not as bad as Alastor expected," Amelia replied. "It's still something we could do without, but it's mostly petty fighting and lewd behaviour."
"Lewd behaviour?"
"Believe me, you don't want to know," Amelia sighed.
"Well, either way, you can make it up to me with dinner. I will be done soon."
"I can't tonight," Amelia said apologetically. "Jameson is coming over for dinner."
"Is he now?" Jenny asked teasingly.
"Not like that," Amelia said firmly. "Edgar invited him round."
"So, he's not even your guest," Jenny returned with a grin.
Amelia narrowed her eyes at the insinuation.
"You are free to join us if you like."
"It would be rude to refuse," Jenny replied. "I'll just need a little time to get ready. I won't be seen like this."
Amelia rolled her eyes at the woman.
"Fine, but don't take forever."
"In a rush to see your man?"
"He is not my man," Amelia growled, eliciting a smirk from the other woman.
Jenny was one of the few people who could rile her up, and it irritated Amelia to no end.
"So, nothing new between the two of you then?"
"Why would there be?" Amelia asked casually.
"Bones."
Amelia tutted as she folded her arms.
"No, there is nothing new between us."
"But you want there to be."
Amelia shook her head.
"No, and he doesn't either."
"Has he told you that?"
"Does he have to?"
Jenny huffed frustratedly.
"It really is like getting blood out of a stone with you," she grumbled. "Unless you've spoken about it and both said you're not interested, it remains unresolved."
"There's nothing to resolve," Amelia insisted.
"You can keep telling you that as much as you like, Amelia Bones, but I've seen the two of you together. There's something there, even if you don't want to admit it."
"We are friends," Amelia said firmly.
Jenny shook her head.
"You're telling me, with all the time you've spent together and everything he's done, nothing has happened, not even a lingering hug?"
Amelia felt her cheeks redden, and Jenny grinned triumphantly.
"Spill it," she demanded.
"it's not like that," Amelia said dismissively.
"Then what was it like?"
Amelia deflated and shook her head.
"I had a nightmare when I was staying at his and woke him up," she explained.
"Why were you staying at his if he's home?"
Amelia shrugged.
"I just do sometimes," she replied. "I have dinner with him, spend time with the thestrals and hippogriffs, and I stay the night. I have my own room."
"How very cosy," Jenny commented. "Wait, if you have your own room, how did he know you were having a nightmare?"
"I screamed," Amelia admitted. "It felt so real."
"And good old Jameson kicked the door off the hinges and scared the monsters away?"
"Something like that," Amelia sighed. "Anyway, he stayed with me."
"That's it?"
"I might've fallen asleep in his arms."
"Well, that's progress, I suppose. How was it being spooned by him?"
"Alright, that's enough," Amelia growled, fighting the urge to blush, though as ever, she failed miserably.
"Fine, maybe I will just ask Jameson."
"You will not!"
Jenny offered her another teasing grin.
"You know I wouldn't really do that to you," Jenny assured her. "I just find the two of you as funny as I do frustrating. You clearly care about one another."
Amelia did not deny it, but she still didn't understand the nature of their relationship.
With everything they'd been through, of course they cared, but in what way eluded her.
Jameson had said nothing other than he didn't date witches, and Amelia, save for her more vulnerable moments, wasn't exactly an open book either.
It was as though they ran around each other in oddly intrusive yet not unwelcome circles, neither broaching the subject of what they meant to one another.
For Amelia, her feelings were confused between the undeniable care and gratitude she felt towards Jameson and anything else that could lie beneath the surface.
Where Jameson stood, Amelia had no ideas.
Although she'd come to realise that although parts of his life were shrouded in mystery, he was much more straightforward than she'd first thought.
He remained something of an enigma in many ways, but for the most part, he was just Harry Jameson to Amelia.
"Are you alright there, Bones?" Jenny asked.
Amelia nodded.
"Fine," she said dismissively. "Are you ready to leave now?"
"I am," Jenny declared. "Come on, I just need a few minutes at my place to get ready."
(Break)
"Harry," Edgar greeted him as he arrived in the entrance hall of the Bones home. "Amelia's not back from work yet, but she won't be much longer. I expect she's burying herself in her work again. She always does at this time of year."
"This time of year?" Harry asked.
Edgar nodded sombrely.
"The anniversary is coming up soon of, well, you know. Amelia works harder, and I try my best not to think about it. Sorry, I don't want to spoil the mood."
"Think nothing of it," Harry replied, clasping the ma on the shoulder. "It's the same for me around Halloween. I try not to think about it, but it's always there, especially when that time comes around."
"I forget that you lost your own parents similarly," Edgar sighed. "Come on, let's have a drink whilst we are waiting."
Harry followed the man into the study, and Edgar poured them both a generous measure of whiskey.
"This was my father's favourite," he explained. "I don't care for it much, but it makes me feel closer to him if that makes sense."
"It does," Harry assured the man.
Edgar offered him a toast before draining his glass.
"I don't suppose you remember much about your parents?"
Harry shook his head.
"No," he answered. "People who knew them have told me about them, but you only ever get a biased opinion when you ask someone about the dead. They were either flawlessly perfect people or despised by others. You never get a true account of them."
Edgar nodded.
"I remember mine," he sighed. "They were far from perfect, but they were good people who loved their children. I don't look at them through rose-tinted glasses. My father was a workaholic, and my mother something of a social butterfly. They adored each other, Harry, but their marriage wasn't without its share of problems. Amelia was a little younger than me, so she didn't really notice these things. In case you haven't gathered, she's never been able to accept what happened to them. I'm not saying I have, but I had to pick up the pieces of everything when they died. I don't resent them, but my life changed inexplicably after they were killed, and not for the better."
"I get it," Harry replied. "My life would've been very different had my parents not been killed. I don't resent mine either, but you never stop asking yourself those 'what-if' questions."
"Exactly," Edgar sighed, pouring them both another drink. "To your parents, Harry."
"And to yours," Harry returned, raising his own glass.
"Hold on, here comes trouble," Edgar chuckled as the fireplace flared into life.
Amelia stepped out of it after a short delay and was taken aback by the presence of the two men.
Her hesitation caused the other woman who followed to collide with the redhead, and both stumbled forward.
Harry caught them and found himself holding onto two blushing women.
"Well, it's not often you get two lovely ladies throwing themselves at you."
"in your dreams, Jameson," Amelia huffed as she extracted herself.
"Bones, if you knew what my dreams consisted of, your cheeks would be even redder, just like that," he added as the blush deepened.
"Get off," Amelia growled. "You're incorrigible."
"You can always tell me about your dreams if you like," Jenny offered.
"Don't encourage him," Amelia groaned.
Edgar laughed as Harry grinned.
"You're as red as a beetroot," the former teased. "Come on, let's get her seated at the table before she starts feeling faint."
"I'll curse the pair of you," Amelia warned as a giggling Jenny led her from the study.
Edgar shook his head amusedly.
"She doesn't mean it," he assured Harry. "When she's smiling like that, she won't do it. Thanks, Jameson."
"For what?"
"For making her smile," Edgar explained. "She hasn't smiled these past few days."
Harry could only nod as he followed the man towards the dining room.
He truly understood that feeling.
Harry vividly remembered what it was like living his life with what Riddle had done to his parents and the sense of peace it brought him when the man had been brought to justice.
It was something the Bones had not been granted, and though he knew he might regret doing so, Harry was more determined than ever to see that they were.
(Break)
It was late in the evening, and Albus was readying himself to retire when a knock sounded at the door to his office. Frowning curiously, he took a seat behind his desk.
"Come in, Harry," he called.
The man entered, looking tired but somehow alert.
"I do wonder how it is you manage to enter the castle without me always knowing," the headmaster mused aloud.
"I can assure you it is something unique to me, Albus," Harry replied. "The security here is as effective as ever."
Albus nodded appreciatively.
"What is it I can do for you?" he asked.
Harry released a deep breath as he sunk into the chair opposite.
"There's something I need your help with," he sighed. "I can't promise I will answer any questions you have, or that I can tell you everything. You can decline, but I would appreciate our assistance."
"Well, the worst that can happen is that I decline," Albus pointed out.
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
"I was hoping you could tell me what you know about the murder of the former Lord Bones and his wife."
Albus released a deep breath.
A terrible, terrible affair," he murmured. "I remember hearing the news of what happened to them, but I'm afraid I do not know very much. The case was investigated by local authorities and not by the ICW. No arrests were made, and as time went by, it was simply forgotten about. Why do you ask?"
"I suppose Moody would've told you about someone trying to kill Amelia in Diagon Alley?"
"He mentioned it."
"Well, I don't think it was anything to do with Greyback," Harry continued. "The more I think about it, something just doesn't add up, and when I asked Amelia about her own investigation into the murder of her parents, she revealed that she had made official requests for information from several Ministries and even the ICW."
Albus frowned as he nodded thoughtfully.
"You think that there is someone who learned of this and wishes to silence her."
"That's exactly what I think."
"That would be a very serious allegation to make, Harry," Albus warned, "and it would be aimed at some very powerful people if you are alluding to what I believe you are."
"I know," Harry murmured, "but I won't see her harmed because of it."
Albus offered the man an understanding smile.
Harry's intentions in this were pure, but the headmaster feared he could find himself stirring a hornet's nest he was wholly unprepared for.
"Harry, there is no one more than me who despises corruption, violence, and crooked politicking, but I'm afraid there is little I can give you in this matter. Truly, I wish there was…"
"Surely you must know someone who can?"
He was determined, Albus couldn't deny that.
Releasing another deep breath, Albus nodded to himself.
"Perhaps," he murmured, "but it would be a considerable risk and one I would not advise you to take. Sometimes, it is better to leave things as they are instead of possibly making them worse."
"I know, but if I am right, they won't stop coming for her, will they?"
Harry would not budge, and Albus knew that if he didn't help him, the man would look for another, perhaps, more dangerous way to find what he sought.
"I will see if I can arrange a meeting for you," he decided. "I can make no promises, but I will try."
"Thank you," Harry replied appreciatively.
Albus nodded.
"Are you sure you know what you're getting into?" he asked worriedly.
"Oh, I expect it will be quite something," Harry huffed. "From what I do know, the whole thing reeks of corruption at the very top, just as Greyback's escape does. I know you may not want to think the worst of your colleagues, Albus, but at least one of them knows something, at best. At worst, they are directly involved in the criminality themselves. I think it is the latter."
Albus nodded grimly.
Harry was not one to make bold statements without due consideration, and though the man was right, Albus did not want to believe those he thought highly of could be associated with such despicable things, he would not deny it was a possibility.
"Then let us hope, Harry, that you are wrong, for both of our sakes."