A/N: I did warn you this would take forever. I have written further than four chapters but in an effort to reduce errors; uploads will always lag behind I'm afraid. Thanks for waiting though!
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Creaking Under The Strain
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Some moments, teaching gave him an escape from the mounting scrutiny he was under. Other times it felt tedious in the extreme. Like now, as he was preaching Moody's Elementary Wand Safety for-what-felt-like the hundredth time to his second years.
Some of the more gifted students had started to have accidents, somewhat replicating his desperate wandless Lumos charm during the Dementor attack in Little Whinging. The unlucky few who had stowed their wands close to their skin close of their core's had experienced their fair share of burnt flesh and cloth. In the end, he'd had to explain the effects that he'd predicted existed during his time while working with Wilber.
"It's the reason Auror's keep their wand's in an arm or leg holster. Because the extremities are far enough from the core, any accidental flaring, if it ever does happen, can be kept under control because of the focus that's required to properly cast." He told them.
"Where should we keep them then!?" Called Natalie McDonald to his right.
"Watch your tone Miss McDonald." He warned. "If you're prone to flares, keep it in your sweater sleeve, or even sock if you must. If not, stowed in the outer robe is fine. Any questions? No? Then let's get back to our work on the Immobulus Charm."
Time, despite the temporal nature of the charm the class was practicing, sped up so much he'd almost let out a gasp at the sight of the time on the clock.
As soon as he'd dismissed the class, he leant heavily against the simple desk. A month had passed since Viktor's visit to his office, and it hadn't been the most relaxing month. The Prophet had become ever more the tabloid, devolving into a debate upon whether 'The Vanquisher' should be tracking down the culprit of the 'Murders of Pure Blood'. It was rather a garish title to him, but the Wizarding World's sensibilities were most definitely skewed. That much was agreed upon by himself, Tonks and Hermione.
To the displeasure of his elves, the pair had taken to staying in their London abode more and more. Hogwarts was about as much of the Magical World as he could stomach currently, even his ancestral home brought less of the familiar comfort he usually derived from it. When they went shopping, or made any appearance in the magical public: He wore glamours, while she did... her Tonks thing. Something which he'd become mightily jealous of her for after a few of such visits.
Teddy meanwhile, seemed to grow in a sort of time-lapse fashion. All of which Tonks had documented with a Muggle camera, each trip to get the film printed had become an spontaneous, irregularly scheduled date in the Muggle world. St. Mungos had requested of them to let them document Teddy's progress over time, as werewolf offspring were incredibly rare. So, for the betterment of Magical Healing, and curiosity of their own, Teddy visited the Hospital every three weeks or so.
Any outburst of accidental magic from the child usually happened around the full moon. Something the Healer in charge of studying Teddy, Healer Montrose, was rather excited by. Harry had initially taken his enthusiasm the wrong way until realizing that he was an academic at heart. Anything new and different was interesting in the extreme to the man, of course, Tonks found him amusing enough to make jokes at home about the Healer.
Viktor meanwhile, had fulfilled his word and left for Europe. Something which was covered extensively by the Prophet, any mention of his joining them was left to the singular voice of the venerable Rita Skeeter. He'd often wondered how some of her articles were published, given the fact that they lacked veracity so startlingly often. He and Hermione had, at times, wondered about the blackmail material she had to have over the editor, Tonks merely wondered if she slept with the portly editor and was, as Ron would have put it; 'bloody brilliant in bed.' The latter idea was one he personally found repugnant, not to mention that he also made the mistake of telling his fiancé about being cornered by the notorious reporter in a broom cupboard for an interview in his fourth year.
The jokes and innuendos she made for two weeks after were some of the most vexing he'd ever endured.
Something else he was currently enduring was; the wait. The wait until Viktor crowed and whoever had been attacking Purebloods Traditionalists was brought to justice. The wait until he could go back to his normal life, well, as normal as The-Vanquisher-of-Voldemort could ever be. The rapport he'd developed with his students was a clear sign of the normality he'd established. As a student he'd had a god-like aura. As a teacher, students were forced to interact with him, and the aura had fallen. Of course the experiences he sometimes drew upon in class was the stuff of legend, and always had the air of 'it worked for me, it'll work for you'.
Perhaps it was unorthadox, but if it helped, he used it.
He became the teacher Dumbledore had told Harry he'd aimed to be. The old Headmaster was available to students with legitimate scholarly and social concerns. And while the older man had failed in some respects, being a very important individual with his attention pulled in many directions. Notwithstanding the fact of his legendary status was intimidating all but those who'd interacted with him the most. He'd succeeded in becoming… sort of relatable, even if slightly eccentric.
Professor Potter however was able to do better, for a start, he was younger and relatable due to simply being so. He was also fairly frank and his classes were as far from rote learning as possible. He could also take a joke, as long as it had nothing to do with the coffee he brought to morning classes. But perhaps the most overriding facet of Professor Potter's popularity, was that he loved teaching Defence. The reasons were never shared for reasons obvious to those that were close to him, but the result was a class that students enjoyed due to a passionate professor. It was similar to how the student population felt about Professors Flitwick and Sprout.
Despite his approachability, Professor Potter was not available currently. It was time he saved for himself, evidenced by his locked classroom door. He hadn't read the Prophet in weeks, for with each dead pureblood discovered, the more intense the scrutiny of him became. It added too much stress to his mornings to even skip the dribble to get to his sports pages, so he'd forgone them.
A student however, had left a copy on a desk in the center of the room, likely from breakfast.
The thought of vanishing it ran through his mind, and his wand hand twitched just barely in response. Minutes passed as he glared at it as it mocked him, as he debated whether or not to give it a glance.
The Prophet had become censored at home, though he knew Tonks read it still.
Fuck it. Curiosity overcame him and he gave the paper a flick of his wand. Instead of vanishing it however, he used a spell he'd seen Hermione use, not even wanting to touch the paper. It floated over and hovered before him where he could read it.
It was a mistake.
RUSSIAN ROYALTY RUINED
In a blase and unthinkable attack upon the Russian ruling family, Alexyiv Vladimirovich, eldest son of Tsar Michael III Vladimirovich and heir to the throne was kidnapped from the grounds of the great palace in St. Petersburg. His body was then found at the entrance to the Russian magical quarter Bol'shoy Rynok displayed in gruesome fashion. Reports from the Great Palace suggest that the method and motive of such attack are unknown.
Michael III was steadfast when called upon for a statement, despite the loss of his eldest heir stating: "We are conducting our own investigation of course, but welcome the assistance of the ICWS to work together to bring those responsible to justice."
The consensus of the wider nation under the Vladimirovich rule however was not as stoic as their leader. Alexyiv's death adds to the growing total of Pureblood deaths on the continent in recent months. Not since the reign of Grindelwald, has the oldest of magical societies faced such a threat as it does today.
He turned the page.
HARRY POTTER DODGES ICW by Rita Skeeter
Over the last year, those who work in the Ministry of Magic had gotten used to 'The Vanquisher' walking through its halls almost daily. Even now, as the youngest Professor of Defence against the Dark Arts Hogwarts has ever seen, he is still seen within the Ministry on occasion as he works with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to revolutionize its Personnel. A role he has taken to with a flourish, as many would agree.
Recent events however suggest that our most famous citizen has distanced himself from the Ministry, much to the disappointment of its staff and those who rely upon his guiding hand. Now, why would this mean anything?
Well, dear readers, anonymous Ministry sources point the finger at a recent visit from the leader of the newly formed International Confederation of Wizards Squad, Viktor Konieg. ICW Law dictates that all member states must provide a member to join the new organization, and it appears Konieg is reminding the British Ministry that they must deliver or face the consequences.
Current Head of the DMLE Hestia Jones thanked the ICWS for its diligence and the ICW as a whole for its leniency: "An international squad is long needed, as the citizens of Britain can attest to within the clutches of a Dark Lord. We wish to provide the best that Britain can offer, and would prefer to send a representative once our Departmental changes are fully implemented. However, we respect the wishes of the ICW and will endeavor to provide such a candidate before the deadline."
It is obvious, dear readers, that, from one hero to another, this Konieg attempted to recruit our savior to do the heavy lifting for this infantile ICWS as it struggles to find the culprit behind the recent spate of murders throughout Europe.
Given that an anonymous source had handed me Harry Potter's very own resignation letter, shows exactly what he thinks. More to follow.
Below this was another.
ICWS BREAKTHROUGH
A brazen attack upon the home of Gerard Delacour Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Witches was foiled by members of the ICWS. Details remain scant, but what is known is that the timing coincided with the kidnapping and murder of Alexyiv Vladimirovich heir to the Russian throne. While there has been no statement as of yet from the ICW or its much publicized Squad, we join those on the continent who hope for an end to the senseless bloodshed.
When a statement is released, The Daily Prophet will print it first.
The paper quickly found itself burning as it hung in midair. If his mind wasn't running at a million miles an hour, he'd have wondered at his apparent penchant for setting fire to newspapers.
One would think after having so much dribble written about him in the past, Rita's inflammatory style of writing wouldn't affect him like it once had. The accuracy of the article however had thrown him for a loop. She'd progressed from outright making ridiculous stuff up, to digging deep, too deep.
How could more competent journalism annoy him more than the lies?
The answer came to him quickly: While it was true he'd developed a thick skin for strangers' opinions over the years, it was to breach of privacy that vexed him more. Between Dumbledore's machinations, Tom in his head, and the ravenous appetite of a populous that never saw Harry Potter in person… he'd never enjoyed much privacy.
Now however, things were different. He had a home away from Hogwarts, a home life to go with it and a certain simplicity for both those things that he cherished. And it had been violated. Though, for the life of him, he couldn't decide just how angry he should, or wanted, to be.
Indecision had never been his strong point.
With that, he vanished the ashen remains of what had once been a magical newspaper and settled upon his chair, waiting for his sixth year class to arrive.
Meditation shortened the wait time considerably, and allowed him to put his thoughts aside. He would need a clear mind for this lesson, and it was one he'd been looking forward to. The Patronus Charm wasn't strictly necessary to pass one's OWL's, yet he would mention and quickly demonstrate it towards the end of that year. That was the plan at least, it was rather difficult to implement a curriculum for students whose education was so haphazard.
For a moment he lamented the difficulty Remus would have faced in his year. At least he could look forward to the time when those of each year would be competent per his outline. Then it hit him.
Just how long will I be teaching for!?
He didn't have much time to wonder at that as students began to pile in, chatting amongst themselves as they took their usual places.
"Alright, alright." He said loudly as the last one had found their seat.
The room fell silent quickly, as had become standard.
"Now, I'm sure you're all sick of me mentioning how you should already know the topics we will tackle in class today." Some of them sniggered in response, even he smirked. "But, today will be different. Today's topic is something I would, and will, mention to the fifth years but only Sixth and above will properly attempt it during class."
Pure, anadulturated anticipation filled the air. It wasn't often that this sort of situation would come up for his older students this year, and everyone, even he, was excited. A part of him hoped that this would find parity with Minerva's legendary first class Animagus demonstration.
"It's time for you to learn the Patronus Charm."
Murmurs filled the room in response, he waited for them to die before continuing.
"And because you are, your meditation is doubly important now. However, I ask that you focus upon your feelings this time, to find the happiest, most potent memory you possess. I will cast mine while you do so, so you can identify the specific type of magic it creates. Don't worry, when you finish, you'll see it, so I need you to focus… Now."
The class closed their eyes in almost unison, once the last one had, he incanted loudly so they could all hear him:
"Expecto Patronum." At his words, Prongs burst from his wand forming next his desk, bathing the room in light. Somewhat proudly, the Stag stepped slowly throughout the room, between the students, weaving through them all.
He smiled as he watched Prongs, glad that he'd used Teddy as the basis for the spell as familial love filled the room. He didn't want any of them to feel how he felt about Dora, as half of those weren't really appropriate for class, and were very personal.
After ten or so minutes he brought them back to task: "Hold onto that feeling, and remember, that this spell may take six months, or two years to grasp the concept of. Now, open your eyes."
Most came to, slowly, before gasping at the sight of Prongs's majestic form beside him. It was comforting, intoxicatingly so to be bathed in magic and the manifestation of the feeling he used to create it.
"Some of you can already cast a Patronus, I'd like you to cast it once the best you can, before helping those who this spell is new to. To those of whom this spell is new, you may not even get a wisp of anything in this class, or future ones. Don't get discouraged, it took me months to learn."
He gestured to them to stand, which they did hurriedly.
"You have found a memory to power your charm, identify the emotions behind it, focus upon it… And repeat after me and cast… Expecto Patronum."
He caught sight of Ginny and Luna sitting together, Luna looking even more serene than usual and Ginny seemingly more contemplative. "Expecto Patronum." The whole class chanted back at him. Immediately, a Horse and Hare born of wisps of light appeared to the surprise of the class, but not to him.
The Horse winked out of existence quickly, but the Hare remained, bounding around the room even hopping onto his desk a few times before fading away. The rest had no luck whatsoever, but he'd expected that. "Good Miss Lovegood and Miss Weasley, I'll need your help for future classes." Both nodded for a reply.
"The rest of you, feel the magical signature of my own." He gestured to his own Patronus which stood beside his desk like an incredibly lifelike statue. "Aim to match it, change the memory you've chosen, find one which stirs the deepest, strongest emotion possible. Once you have, try again."
…
Prongs had accompanied him for the entirety of the class, lightening his mood considerably as he sat in the Great Hall idly chatting with Filius about his first ever Patronus class.
The Charms Master matched his enthusiasm, while the spell itself was within his area of expertise, teaching it was difficult. Not to mention any DADA professor would have most likely had more practical experience with it and thus, remained within the DADA purview.
"I have only ever managed a shield form." Filius began. "I gave up the corporeal version decades ago to improve the form I could conjure."
"Not even a hint of one?" He asked, surprised.
Flickwick grinned toothily. "I suspect it's due to my heritage."
He hesitated, unsure if he would offend his colleague if he guessed at his ancestry.
The grin widened at his reticence. "The goblin blood I share most likely hinders the sort of emotion needed for the Corporeal form. The magic of wizardkind differs from the magics of Goblins, Elves, even Dragons. You know this Harry, as you discuss it in your lesson plans. The specifics of those differences however have not, and will probably never be explored."
He sipped his goblet of 'grape juice', at least that's what it was to students. Finding out wine was a staple of the staff table at dinner had definitely been a shock. "Like how Wizards can't replicate Goblin metalwork?"
"Exactly." Flitwick speared a piece of bloody steak with his fork, unfazed. "Secrets, the jealous hoarding of Magical development that has existed for millennia."
As one, both returned to their meals digesting the conversation and their food. His gaze swept the hall every few bites or so, finding Hermione and Neville easily, both looked to be relaxed and chatting idly. A pass of the Ravenclaw table and he caught sight of Luna waving at him. After sharing a cheeky glance with Fillius and subtly grasping his wand; his napkin rose into the air beside him before forming into a large hand that returned her wave.
Those students who noticed, laughed, as did the Charms Professor beside him.
When the napkin turned upon him, slapping him across the cheek however, they laughed harder. The shock of having his magic overridden had him raking the hall with his eyes to find the culprit. A glance to the right revealed a smirking Headmistress, and a look that reminded him vividly of when she'd caught him and Ron fighting with trick wands in the back of her class.
He grinned innocently in return, happy nonetheless. If working on the Patronus Charm had him feeling this way every time, he might have to drag it out as long as he could.
The rest of Dinner went by quickly with his waving napkin inspiring an impromptu magic show from the staff for the enjoyment of everyone.
The message on a cat-shaped napkin, asking him to visit the Headmistresses Office after dinner didn't dull his spirits.
Minutes later, when he turned from his latest conversation to find the Headmistress had vacated her seat, he rose from his own, and made his way up the countless stairs to her office. Despite his happiness from his class and dinner, the fact that it was his night to patrol meant a night spent in the castle instead of home vexed him. As it did each night he was assigned to watch halls long deserted on those specific nights.
It wasn't long until he was speaking the password: "Square go." A phrase he still hadn't asked her about the meaning of.
He didn't bother to knock, nor did the door let him as it swung open of its own accord to reveal a red-haired individual seated before the desk. Surprisingly, Minerva sat upon a similar chair, rather than the ornate one behind her desk.
Only when he drew closer, did he recognise Bill, who, when he noticed the new arrival, jumped up to greet him. "Harry!"
They shook, and he grinned in response, the familiarity born from the time spent warding his London home. "Bill! Missing your glory days as Head Boy?"
Bill rolled his eyes as the Headmistress gave them both a fondly exasperated look. "Draw up a chair Harry."
A benign expression in the Muggle world, was very literal in the Magical one. So, mindful that Minerva ever the teacher would be appraising his work, he did so, sketching the first thing he thought of. From the tip of his wand grew an exact copy of one of Hagrid's homemade enormous chars.
Ignoring Bill's snort, he hopped up upon it, his toes brushing the floor absurdly.
"That would have made Celeste's day." Minerva observed wryly.
He snorted. Professor Celeste Beadle had become notorious throughout the school for her strict unsmiling demeanor. Given that Headmistress duties took up too much time to continue teaching Transfiguration full-time, Celeste was brought in to teach up to OWL level, as Minerva just couldn't give up her NEWT classes just yet.
The fact of the matter was, Professor Beadle was an incredibly kind and friendly witch in her forties. Her regal features and long brunette hair always tied in a single long braid mollified the traditional sensibilities which still made up the bulk of the board of governors. Her stern demeanor hid her nerves at the sudden progression in her career and the uncomfortableness of handling classes compared to her previous tutoring work.
Though supremely talented in her area of expertise, she'd long complained to him how annoying it was to always need to prove herself to the students. He would always reply with how he'd been telling his students how rubbish at magic he used to be, they'd share a chuckle, and that'd be it. Much of his resume was known as general public knowledge.
"Sure." He replied. "It also wouldn't be quite right either for her, not quite identical enough."
"And that, Harry, is why you have your affinity for Charms." She said primly.
He waited for an extrapolation, however it never came, stretching the amused silence until Bill broke it with a huff. "If you two are quite finished."
He demurred. "Sorry Bill. What brings you here? And out of the blue as well?"
The redhead withdrew a piece of parchment from an inner pocket. "I've received a worrying Owl, and with you spending time in the Ministry with the right people... You ought to know."
He could feel his earlier good mood slipping away. He was beginning to learn that anything expressly brought to his attention, that wasn't something to do with Teddy or an assignment, wasn't something he would enjoy. He spared a glance towards Dumbledore's portrait and found an almost pitying look upon his face, hidden well, but he could see it in the old man's eyes.
This was your job since Grindelwald, wasn't it, old man? Shit.
Wordlessly, Bill held out the parchment, to which he hesitated a moment before taking it. Schooling his features he read:
Heir William Weasley, it is truly a pleasure to write to one of the few wizards in the world skilled enough to join the exclusive ranks of Gringotts. I'm sure you've become aware of the events in Europe, the persecution of Purebloods, the slaughter and unrest growing amongst the magical community.
I'm aware, and pleased of the Weasley family's progressive stance, one of the few in the British Wizengamot. I shall be glad to meet the Head of the Family if I get the chance.
However, as a proudly Pureblood family, whatever political stance you take, usually only at the deeds of the Family Head, means little to those who would do you harm.
Despite being merely an heir, you've skillfully forged various connections across the globe, a notable achievement belaying the previous fortune of your family. Egyptian royalty? Goblins? All intriguing. The Delacours however are old and influential, so much so their Head has risen to Supreme Mugwump.
His attempts to thwart our pruning of the dead leaves of magical society have become bothersome enough however, to merit more direct measures. I'm sure you're familiar with Gerard, yes? Given you've wed his daughter.
You can help me, help the world.
Change his mind, call off his impotent squad.
Or
Being an island nation won't save the Purebloods of Britain from our wrath, coastlines are notoriously hard to protect from invaders, I should know.
Respectfully
G
His instincts, yet again, rang true. His mind raced at the implications, trying to pull information from between the lines. Wordlessly, he handed the letter to Minerva mindlessly as his mind worked through it all.
By now, Bill's expression had deepend, an uncharacteristic frown betraying just how he felt about such a threat.
It was a threat, no doubt about that, almost all of the letter was. Most would only recognise the last sentence as an open threat, but years of trying to make sense of Dumbledore's double-speak and vague references helped him in this regard. This 'G', knew much about the eldest Weasley child, too much.
He suspected he also knew about his and Fleur's cottage in Tinworth, it wasn't too much of a stretch to connect 'beach' and 'coast'.
The clear respect shown however, gave him much more to think about. This person was at least connected to the terrible goings-on across the channel. Yet, this was far different from the work of Deatheaters. It somewhat reminded him of a younger Tom Riddle, only this person was much more honest in their intentions.
The timing was too coincidental, with the attack upon the Supreme Mugwump happening mere days ago. The threat was against the whole Weasley family, if not just Arthur and Bill.
Yet… The words felt sincere, and were familiar to him, but he couldn't place them.
Muttered Scottish profanities interrupted his thoughts. He glanced over to find Minerva almost holding the letter at arms reach, an ugly look on her aged features.
His eyes however, found Bill's. "What did Hestia say?"
"I haven't brought it up, you're more friendly with her than I am."
Minerva almost threw the parchment upon the desk. "And you are worried about what will happen if you draw the attention of the Authorities? Are you not?"
Bill nodded. "It doesn't mention anything about keeping it quiet though."
He ran a hand over his face tiredly. "I'll see what Dora thinks before I take this to Hestia. I think this is serious, but it doesn't seem… imminent."
Bill shrugged before standing. "It's not the best timing… if I'm completely honest… Fleur's pregnant."
Two sets of eyes widened in surprise. He simply sat mutely as Minerva stood quickly and bestowed a hug upon him. "Congratulations William, how is she?"
Bill smiled, obviously pushing aside the situation for the moment. "She's four months, and feeling… fiery.
He snorted while Minerva smiled wistfully, eventually silence fell again as Minerva retook her seat.
He mulled over the situation a while before exhaling and nodding. "I'll do what I can."
Bill stood. "I'll recheck the wards then. Thank you for hosting us Proffe-Headmistress."
Goodbyes were exchanged and with a whoosh of the floo, the room was silent once more, leaving both Headmistress and Professor stewing in it. The silence was complete, given the removal of all of Dumbledore's rattling trinkets and whirring gizmos.
He'd have gone home tonight if it wasn't his turn to patrol a castle devoid of student's nighttime wanderings. For a moment he thought of inviting Dora to join him. Teddy most likely needed the exercise given the fact that the closer to two years old he got, the more restless he'd become. He'd just about skipped crawling and progressed to running about the house like a madman.
'Teddy-Proofing' had become a necessary adjective as of late. It was an apt description that applied to just about everything, including 'Mum and Dad time.'
Yet again he wondered if his decision to teach was the right thing, it felt wrong to be away from Teddy. Dora had been adamant, while they were together, however, she would not burden him.
It was still something they disagreed upon.
"I thought that working with the Ministry might give people the confidence to look to them to fix their problems for once." He said sullenly.
"I'm sure there were many reasons behind your time at the Ministry." Minerva began soberly. "However, you can never escape who you are." She let that sink in a moment before waving towards Dumbledore's portrait. "The foremost practitioner of Transfiguration in the world, is dead. As his apprentice, I now receive the correspondence, the questions and the calls for aid once meant for him."
He glanced at the same portrait.
She continued, looking far more like a grandmother than she once had. "Who you are to us all, is the light in the darkness. Even if, at some moments, you feel much more dark than light."
He thought for a moment about the attack upon the old Tonks Cottage, the fury he felt and the wrath he dealt. And why. The images replayed themselves, overwhelming the ones provided by his eyes.
He sprinted the last few stairs, just catching sight of the spell the Deatheater sent into a small hole in the very last door. The green illuminated everything, the walls, the robes of the attacker and cast a sickly hue upon his skin. For the smallest fraction of a second, it inspired him and he yearned to respond in kind. However, in the moments where he brought his wand to bear, a better idea presented itself.
This… thing… had to be punished. "CRUCIO!"
"Harry?" He blinked, refocusing upon his Headmistress once again. "What is Bill Weasley to you?"
He pondered the question for several moments. "A friend, a family friend… He-they gave us the first proper safe shelter we'd had in months."
She leant forward. "Then perhaps… this isn't the typical badgering of those who idolize you. This is a threat to his family. And in response? He's contacted the best he knows for help, someone he trusts to protect those dearest to him."
Silence fell upon the room again, interspersed with the odd exaggerated snore from a portrait.
All he could do was nod, he had much to think about.
And a castle devoid of the wandering of troublesome students would give him plenty of time to think.
…
Thank god it was friday. Thank Merlin it was friday. Whichever expression one used, the sentiment remained the same.
Tonight had become a date night, rather than the usual laidback night in. His initial argument against the idea was weak, namely because he hadn't really come up with one. Nevertheless, Teddy was at Shell Cottage - Fleur's idea apparently - giving them the night to themselves. It was a departure from tradition, but not an unwelcome one.
Dora's tone when informing him of these changes gave him the suspicion that something else was afoot. However, he would have to find out those details later for he felt the weight of the subject he needed to discuss with her.
They'd wandered into Muggle London, their escape, and soaked up the nightlife on the way to their destination. Wherever that was.
Shaftesbury Avenue was just as lively as the first time he'd visited the area, though under these different circumstances, it was rather enjoyable. Something else that was rather enjoyable was the woman on his arm. Her almost knee length boots ended where the cutoff blue jean began, a wide belt separated it and the loose blouse that was unbuttoned enough to draw his eye on occasion. The three quarter coat that most witches and wizards favored as a compromise for robewear, finished the ensemble nicely.
It most likely meant that they were heading to one of the nicer bars towards Piccadilly Circus rather than a pub. He'd long resolved to leave most of their outing planning for her, given she'd frequented the area far more than him. Being older and all.
"Is there any reason why Teddy isn't with Molly tonight?" He almost yelled through the sounds of the traffic, music and chatter around them.
She snorted and glanced his way, just barely missing colliding with someone coming towards them. "Bill is in trouble I hear. Looking after him is the punishment."
He grinned. "You talk about your own son like that!"
"A punishment for Bill." She corrected, matching his smirk. "Although she phrased it as, practice for the one in the oven."
"She did not say it like that!" He countered. "You'd be the only one to refer to themselves as an oven."
She squeezed his arm smirking. "Ok, ok maybe not like that."
They pressed onwards through the throng. A cab pulled up nearby and disgorged four clearly intoxicated eighteen year olds. They sniggered in unison as one of them promptly threw up in the gutter to the amusement of his friends.
"What'd he do?" He asked.
She brought them to a halt outside a bright red door, the sandstone facade gave a clue of how long the building had been standing for. "He waited to tell her about a certain letter he received."
Words failed him as she pulled him inside, he barely noticed the interior before she directed him through the maze of stools and laughing patrons to a chesterfield in an alcove. She picked up the menu on the table, blatantly ignoring how her fiance had suddenly gone as stiff as a board.
It took some time, but eventually he got his tongue working again. "Sorry Dora, I was wai-"
"For some time when we can properly discuss it, yes, I know. But we're going to wait for the alcohol to take hold before discussing anything." She flicked him on the nose, somehow, both affectionately AND threateningly. "But darling, you're buying tonight."
He smirked. "That seems fair."
The London Cocktail Club was filled with gorgeous dark wooden furnishings and couches that spoke of old world luxury. Old for the muggle world, but very fashionable for the magical world. Everyone was dressed casually and tastefully, and the sounds from the bar indicated that they would have the chance for some fun before weightier subjects were discussed.
The chatter and laughter around them was only undercut by the sounds of indistinct music. While he had the niggling suspicion they weren't the only magicals here, the thought didn't stress him as much as it normally would have. No doubt any witch or wizard here would be enjoying the get away from the magical world while still enjoying somewhat familiar surroundings.
Just like them.
The evening progressed much like their usual date nights did, she was as fun as always, and he was learning while enjoying the process.
It was moments like these, snatched from the grasp of time itself, that reminded him just why he was here. Why he hung around, even after his godfatherly duties were fulfilled. It felt like many things at once: the swooping feeling of giving chase to a snitch, and the euphoria of catching it, the humbling feeling of attracting such genuine ardor from another, while also returning it.
It was everything wrapped up in a ball of comfort that had just… grown to fill a void he hadn't known existed before. Even now, he wasn't entirely sure how exactly everything happened, just that it did.
So here they were, still ensconced in the booth they'd secured earlier in the night. The continuous alcohol taking its toll upon the crowd around them, with almost all of them finding any spare spot to perch themselves.
When a moment of silence found them, he finally felt it best to get the conversation started. He swirled his whiskey sour, watching the orange peel move. "Did she give you the specifics?"
She rested an arm upon the table, drink forgotten. "I've got a general idea.
"It's a threat alright." He began. "Vague, but aimed at Bill's family, and other British pureblood families. I'm not sure why this person thinks that Bill can affect the ICW personally though."
"Obviously through Fleur."
"Obviously." He parroted absently. Thinking of the boisterous man upon the arm of Appoline at Bill and Fleur's Wedding. He hadn't really gotten to know the man personally, given everything else that was going on at the time.
"Whoever this is must be desperate." She observed.
"Which makes it more dangerous."
She inclined her head. "Which makes it more dangerous."
Silence fell again as each rode their own trains of thought. The pleasant buzz around them continued on regardless of the heavy air in one particular booth.
"You're wondering why he came to you?" She asked suddenly.
"No. I know why. I've had that chat already. I… I'm wondering if I want to help, or even if I can."
Her eyes met his. "You've always been the sort to help out, whether you can or not."
"That particular trait got me killed once." He took a sip. "I've got far more to lose now."
Her eyes crinkled with a smile that didn't reach her mouth. "You wouldn't be going alone, if you did."
The message was clear, and he really didn't like it. "You're not leaving Teddy to come gallivanting around with me, and you aren't going to bring him either."
All traces of the smile evaporated from her features. "Oh I would, and you won't stop me."
He fought with his initial reaction and emotions for a moment, eventually deciding to seek more information. Leaving one's offspring to fight felt wrong at the most fundamental level of his being. "Did Andi stun you because she knew you were going to fight at Hogwarts?"
He knew it would hurt her to ask the question, bringing up Teddy's grandmother was always a sore point that both approached carefully. Andi's sacrifice however had brought them together, so he had mixed feelings about the whole subject. He no doubt would for many years in the future.
Her voice deepened dangerously. "We had fought that scum EVERY DAY they were in charge. I couldn't go back and fake being an auror for Deatheaters, which meant what money I had dwindled fast. Each day you never knew if you would be raided for some reason, or arrested while shopping. What sort of environment is that to raise a child in?"
He grimaced at the thought, thinking of the child currently at Shell Cottage, no doubt raising a ruckus.
"Then, after nearly a year of existing on pure hope. News comes through, Gringotts is broken into and the three offenders escape on dragon-back, last seen heading north. Then there's more news, Hogwarts itself is preparing for seige, Harry Potter is there in the first confirmed sighting for months." She poked him in the chest. "You bet I'm going to throw all my knuts in on a defence of the school where I learnt to wave a wand. I'm going to fight like hell to bring my world back for my Teddy."
The passion in her eyes hit him like a great weight. He'd never thought of it like that, they'd truly been isolated from the world on their grand quest.
Pity filled her gaze. "Is it the choice?"
"No it's… I feel like I'm being forced to take up the fight again for others. Only this time, I'm not the ultimate target, I don't have any idea about why this is all happening."
She tinked her glass against his. "You've almost described my job exactly, you know. And we're not leaving our boy behind, we're making the world better for him."
He finished his drink slowly as his mind worked over everything his fiance had said. It was almost funny, he decided. His eleven year old self would have made the decision in a heartbeat. The circumstances were roughly similar, only the scaffolding upon which they rested were very different. His goals were different, the reasons he rose from bed each morning were different.
The only thing was that, deep down, he was the same person. Yet perhaps, tempered by experience and wisdom. A small amount of wisdom at least.
He drained the remains of his glass in a single gulp, wincing slightly as the whiskey which had sunk to the bottom burned slightly. He leant over slightly, nudging his companion. "Alright Dora, but only when we're asked to."
She kissed him quickly on the jaw. "Oh, we'll be asked alright. Wanna bet on who does?"
…