O
DOLOS
Deception
"We've missed something." Harry glared round at Kinglsey and Higgs. "An important detail. We must have done."
"What new information have we got to work with," Higgs asked, grabbing a piece of grey parchment and a quill from his desk. "Eldest Weasley girl? Put under the Imperious curse two months ago? Are we sure on that timeframe?"
"Yes," Kingsley confirmed. "We can trust Hestia on that."
"And you," Higgs turned to Harry, "Are saying that it can only have happened in work, near her own home or that of her boyfriend's family?"
"Yes."
"Evidence of this?"
"She didn't go anywhere else during that time," Harry said. "She was worked to the bone. Went home exhausted after every shift, straight into St Mungo's for the next one, and when she was off work she was recovering."
Higgs sniffed, unconvinced. "I don't wish to be indelicate," he said. "But this is a charismatic twenty-year-old with an immensely difficult job and, I would imagine, a wide circle of friends. How do we know she did not venture elsewhere, out after work, for example, to let off steam?"
"Because she says so," Harry snapped back. "As do the rest of her family."
"Which is by extension your family. You don't think the fact she is your niece may be clouding your objective judgement of her honesty?"
"I think," Kingsley broke in with a note of warning, as Harry looked incensed, "that with no other leads, it would be prudent to explore all possibilities within the parameters we have, before casting aspersions on Victoire's sincerity. As it is highly improbable that she was cursed within her own home, or at the Lupins' house, we're left with the hospital."
Higgs' eyes were steely. "I'm not sure it is any more likely that she was targeted within St Mungo's. Not when we set up the precautions that have been in place since the autumn ourselves."
"Be that as it may, we can make mistakes the same as anyone else." Harry, like Tonks, was occasionally reminded of Dumbledore, these days, when he was with Kingsley Shacklebolt, always the port of serenity in the heart of the storm. "Let us start from square one. Victoire's colleagues."
"It could have been anyone working in the hospital, in theory," Harry said in despair. "If they found a way to dupe the wand tracking system."
Affronted, Higgs drew himself up straighter in his chair. "With respect, Potter, however this happened, I do not think it was because of a glitch with the tracking procedure. A few were caught trying to evade it, but we picked up on it instantly. I am confident that not a single wand has entered the hospital undetected since October."
"And the wands that were in St Mungo's already?"
"All tracked too," Higgs confirmed. "My team worked solidly for forty-eight hours to get it done."
"How do we know nothing was missed?"
Higgs narrowed his eyes.
"Our methods are stringent. We work in groups. There are multifaceted checks carried out by separate teams. You're suggesting we were negligent?"
"No," Harry said, carefully keeping his temper. "But there is too much activity within that hospital to be able to determine the exact location of every magical device. A wand could have been missed, against everyone's best efforts, going undetected ever since."
"Wands are as important as body parts," Higgs retorted. "They are not left lying around for anyone to pick up and use. Patients' wands are carefully stored, and those belonging to the deceased are either destroyed or sent to their families, as I'm sure you know. We had an up-to-date list of all in and out patients, which we cross checked with the wands we tagged. I can show it to you now, if you like."
"No need," Harry said wearily, but Higgs was already flicking his own wand towards his large filing cabinet and extracting the required data. Harry knew he took personal offence to any suggestion that he had been remiss in his duties.
He read the list Higgs handed him with forced politeness. It did appear thorough.
"Any patients admitted without wands?" he enquired, handing it back.
"How would that help us?"
"I would just like to know."
"Very well," Higgs said, in clipped tones, taking out a second page and scanning it. "Yes, a few. Five children in long term Paediatrics - too young to own them. The Longbottoms in Permanent Spell Damage. You'll agree there is nothing untoward about that."
Harry gave another curt nod.
"An elderly wizard, also in Permanent Spell Damage, whose mind and wand were destroyed in a duel four years ago. And Dolores Umbridge in Incurable Afflictions. So unless you are suggesting that she has made a miraculous recovery from one of the most debilitating illnesses known to wizard kind, procured an untracked wand in the last two months and cast an unforgiveable curse under our noses, when she has been incapable of speech and most movement for half a decade now, I'm afraid that brings us back to square one." He turned to Kingsley. "Minister, I know we previously categorised wandless magic as a negligible threat, but it may be wise to reassess-"
Harry wasn't listening. He had frozen completely, his blood thundering through his body, his heart thudding in his ears, the mention of the hated name having stirred a forgotten emotion deep within him.
"Umbridge," he muttered, an instant, prickling chill breaking out all over his skin.
"That was my attempt at a joke," Higgs said, pausing in his speech to the minister and on the verge of rolling his eyes. "Dolores Umbridge is as good as dead. She has been for a long time."
Harry was on his feet. How had he never thought of this? Not once suspected, in the past year and a half. Unconsciously, he touched the scars on his hand. They were so much a part of him now that he no longer noticed them.
"Umbridge is crippled with final stage Gorsemoor's," Higgs continued. "You know that. I myself have witnessed the effects of the illness and I assure you, it destroys the victim inside and out. There is no coming back from it."
Harry stared out of Higgs' narrow office window. This was true. Umbridge was now a shell of a human, kept alive by a few functioning essential organs. So why was he not convinced? Why was every inch of him screaming that they had finally hit on the culprit? The only possible culprit. Higgs was losing what little patience had been remaining to him.
"We cannot afford to waste time on dead ends and futile suspicions," he warned. "Not when Strike Three could be imminent. We need to focus on the evidence we have. Solid, irrefutable evidence."
Harry tried to reason with himself. Higgs was absolutely right. Pointless grudges and ill founded suspicions led to tragedies. His hatred of Snape had proved that more than once during his school days, and he had made every effort never to make the same mistakes again, never to let personal bias cloud his judgement, to consider the facts first and foremost. The facts in this case were simple. Umbridge was gravely ill, with no chance of recovery. He'd been at her appeal himself and witnessed her state of declining health. He'd discussed it at length with Hermione afterwards, and even done a lot of personal research on the disease, which he had previously known little about. And while neither he, nor Hermione, nor any of their friends, had held sympathy towards their old nemesis, they had at least agreed she had been dealt the hand she deserved. The illness was incurable, agonising, and ultimately fatal. There was no possibility she could have recovered from it, much less have been a spy for The Crow over the past year.
So that was that.
Unless...
Harry's heart beat faster still as the magnitude of what he was about to say sank in.
"Unless she was never ill to start with."
"Excuse me?"
Harry tore his gaze from the window and looked round at the other two men.
"Unless she doesn't have Gorsemoor's. Never did. It was a cover to get her out of prison."
Higgs raised a sardonic eyebrow.
"Umbridge was examined by a dozen different healers before her appeal took place. Their observations of her symptoms stacked up and they were unanimous in their diagnosis."
"That's exactly my point," Harry said. "There isn't a straightforward test for Gorsemoor's, is there? Diagnosis relies on observation of the symptoms alone. And symptoms," he stared down at his hand - the pearl white scars shone in the light, mocking him, "can be faked."
Kingsley put his head in his hands in a rare display of composure loss. Higgs was having none of it.
"You cannot be implying that Dolores Umbridge faked an incurable disease that has allowed her to function lucidly in St Mungo's since her release from Azkaban without trained healers realising she was, in fact, healthy?" he said, looking incredulously between Harry and Kingsley. "We are talking about the woman who was once abducted by a heard of centaurs, are we not?"
"Common sense and cunning are two completely different things," Harry shot back at him. He paced the office floor, his mind in overdrive. "She's vile, ruthless and cruel. She has no morals and delights in causing pain and suffering. Hate crime against Muggleborns was her primary charge, so involvement with the Narcoviral Curse would make perfect sense. She's a patient on Victoire's current ward, therefore a prime suspect for this latest development. She despises werewolves, none more so than Remus Lupin, which would even explain the link with Teddy's disciplinary -"
"Yes, that is all well and good," Higgs broke in. Kingsley remained silent as the two other men fought it out. "But she has also been in a hospital bed for nearly a decade now. Potter, be reasonable. We are not talking about headaches and a fever. This is a case of seizures, paralysis, complete loss of cognitive function and reassessment of her condition multiple times a year. What's more; even if she were, somehow, to succeed in such a feat, what good would faking a terminal disease do her if the only result was a lifetime in hospital?"
"The Crow has proved that medical boundaries can be pushed beyond all prior knowledge in a very short space of time," Harry retorted. "And as his informant, St Mungo's would have been a much more useful base for her than a cell in Azkaban."
"How on earth would that liaison have come to be? And how would they have kept it up without detection?"
Harry ignored him. He already knew, deep down, that he was right.
"How has she been monitored since her appeal?" He was praying for a snippet of information to show that this was a mistake, that Umbridge was wasting away in St Mungo's as they spoke, as they had always believed, repulsive as ever but harmless.
"All prisoners bailed from Azkaban are tracked," Higgs said stiffly. "We would not release a criminal and let them wander out into the world unchecked, not even those at death's door. The MoSS is alerted to all unexpected movements. Only Greyback ever got around this, and that was due to his transformation on the full moon. The result of an unfortunate error from a more junior member of the team," he added, no doubt wanting to impress that he himself had nothing to do with such an oversight.
"I know that," Harry said, through gritted teeth. The tension between him and Higgs was now paramount. "But she hasn't been observed, has she? Not in her room?"
"Of course not. Even in Azkaban prisoners are entitled to privacy while alone in their own cells. I believe that was your initiative, Minister."
So it had been, during the post war reconstruction, along with dismissal of the dementors, in an attempt to improve the pitiful conditions within the wizarding prison. Harry's eyes met Kingsley's and he knew that, unlike Higgs, the minister was slowly coming to the same sickening realisation.
"And if Umbridge never left her ward... if she never even left her own room unaccompanied... you wouldn't have been alerted to any unusual movements, would you?"
"Potter, she doesn't have a wand. If she has never left her room, what threat could she possibly have posed?"
"She didn't have a wand on the day she was transferred from Azkaban," Harry corrected him. His breathing was now shallow. The logistics still seemed so implausible, and yet...
"Did anyone visit her?" he demanded. "Has anyone been to see her since her release?"
Higgs extracted that information from the depths of his files too.
"Only her brother," he said. "Silas. Visited multiple times between her admission and his death in 2018."
Harry looked at Kingsley again. His face was ashen. "It was her brother who appealed for her release in the first place," he said. "If I remember correctly."
"Yes," Higgs confirmed. "Her squib brother, who was cast out from his family age six and never even attended muggle school. The chances of him pulling this off are less probable than Umbridge doing it herself. And even if all this were possible, think for a moment what you are implying here. Umbridge was released over eight years ago now. That is eight years in a hospital room with less freedom than a cell in Azkaban offers. Eight years of silence. Eight years of no company, no stimulation, no interaction with the outside world. If she wasn't ill when she was admitted, she'd have been driven mad by now anyway."
"Umbridge's greatest pleasure in life was always causing harm to others," Harry spat. "If she knew it was all in the name of worldwide devastation and mass murder of innocent muggles, I imagine that would have sustained her nicely. No other stimulation needed."
"I still don't see how-"
"Look, I don't have all the answers," Harry snarled over him. "You have no idea how much I want to be wrong about this. But if there is one person in that hospital capable of inflicting this much pain and misery on the world, it is Dolores Umbridge. And, as of today, we have a clear link between her, an Imperious victim, and the department that informed the Narcoviral Curse in the first place. So unless you can give me irrefutable proof that she is as ill on the inside as she appears to be on the outside, then we need to act now. We need to check. Before it's too late."
He was still hoping for such proof to be offered up, but Kingsley was on his feet already.
"I'll go to St Mungo's," he said. "Higgs, please be in immediate response mode until I tell you otherwise."
"Of course, sir."
Kingsley turned to Harry as they left the office.
"Be ready to issue a Black Alert," he murmured, once the door had swung shut behind them. "Higgs can be as sceptical as he likes. I fear you are absolutely right."
O
It took a mere two hours to confirm the truth. The truth that Harry had known from the mention of Umbridge's name. How he hadn't seen it long ago was currently beyond him, and his subsequent actions were carried out in a state of autopilot, numb shock driving him through, dampening down the searing flame of anger that would otherwise have rendered him incapable of duty. He was their leader now, and as such it was his job to handle this with the calm and poise of Head Auror, not with unchecked fury and rash actions, as he would have done as a younger man.
Umbridge quickly got wind of the minister's investigations within the wizarding hospital, but her attempt to flee did not get her far, thanks to a combination of Kingsley's subtle skills and Higgs' diligence when it came to tracking procedures. Regardless of his personal feelings towards the Head of Magical Security, Harry had to hand it to him. He always came through when it mattered and, following his continuously updating instructions, the Aurors were able to track down their quarry in no time.
And here they now were, in a nondescript house in the middle of the Norfolk countryside, having torn down all the protective enchantments that had been set up in an attempt to hide Umbridge, The Crow, and the hideout in which he had conducted his long years of research and secret plotting. Both Harry and Tonks had turned their wands on Umbridge first and foremost and she was now was pinned against the wall with the force of their combined immobilising spells. For all her cunning, her magical power was pitifully weak after twenty years of sporadic use, and she stood no chance of escape. She tried all the same, her eyes bulging, struggling against her invisible bonds.
Bentley led a group of Aurors into the neighbouring rooms for further assessment of the threat level facing them, while most of their colleagues clustered around The Crow. He, in contrast, was not putting up any kind of fight, just stood there, his eyes dull, his complexion grey, his body limp. Harry wondered if this was yet another ploy, a back up plan which would ultimately lead to his escape. It seemed unlikely, but, as was becoming evident time after time, unlikely didn't mean a damn thing.
Harry continued to stare at Umbridge. He knew what the next course of action should be, if he was to do this by the book. Both captives returned to the Ministry, to be tried and then sentenced to a life in Azkaban.
How could that be punishment enough for Umbridge, after this? Tonks was watching him closely. She would understand more than most. Greyback had posed a similar moral dilemma.
"Auror Potter." Bentley had reappeared.
"There is a lot in there," he said, jerking his thumb towards a darkened room to their left. "The whole house will need to be scoured properly. However," he held out a small square of stiff paper. "We've just found this."
It was a photograph. Harry stared down at it. Umbridge - a younger, slimmer Umbridge than he had ever known but unmistakably the same woman - sat stiffly in front of the camera, a bundle of blankets squirming in her arms.
He's her son.
How he knew it with such certainty from a glance at this grainy photograph, Harry wasn't sure, but he did. And further pieces of the mystery began to thud into place. The Crow wasn't the instigator here. Umbridge hadn't just forged a link with an emerging dark wizard prior in to her trial in an attempt to guarantee her escape from prison. She had created the evil in the first place. Could that explain The Crow's lack of resistance? Maybe he didn't care whether he was caught or not. Perhaps his life had been so miserable that a cell in Azkaban would be a welcome change.
Harry couldn't take his eyes off the photograph. There was not a trace of love or affection on the woman's features, merely her habitual self-satisfied expression. The baby in the photo tried to grab her trailing sleeve, but she jerked her arm as though dispelling an irksome fly. The infant's mouth opened wide, his wail of forty years previously unheard. Yet Harry felt his gut-wrenching anguish and his mind was made up in that instant.
"The rest of you are to leave." He turned to Auror Hughes. "You and Bentley are in charge. See that you get The Crow back to the Ministry. Unharmed if possible. The minister will be waiting with the stand by Aurors as well as law representatives. Order those on the perimeter of the house to stay put."
"Sir," Bentley offered. "Would it not be better for a couple of us to stay with you? I'm happy to. Hughes is perfectly capable of-"
"You are all to leave."
"Simply for precautionary back up."
Harry's eyes did not leave Umbridge as he replied.
"I won't need back up."
Bentley, looking uncomfortable and also slightly alarmed by the look on his superior's face, did not protest any further. He and Hughes manoeuvred the still unresisting figure of The Crow out of the house, flanked by their colleagues. Tonks had not moved. She glared at Harry, daring him to order her out again, and after a second's hesitation he dropped his gaze. He understood. Her defiance did not stem from doubt for his ability, nor judgement for what he was about to do. It was a simple refusal to let him do it alone.
He raised his wand, turned it on Umbridge, and the fury that had been building inside him since leaving Higgs' office poured through it. He had not used this curse since he was seventeen, when it had burst out of him in a momentary flash of rage. Years on, his power so much greater, more calculated, and his hatred for its victim so much stronger, the force of it was unsurmountable. Umbridge's screams rent the air but Harry did not falter. Again and again he cursed her as his wand, put under unprecedented strain, became hot in his hand, scalding his palm. He continued regardless.
Bellatrix had been wrong. There was no enjoyment in this. No satisfaction. No sense of victory. Just the knowledge that no matter what her did to her, he would never equal the pain she had caused others. And eventually, knowing that nothing could ever be enough, that he needed to end it once and for all, Harry paused and lifted his wand higher, ready to deal the fatal blow.
Seconds passed. The spell wouldn't come. Even now, the incantation which had torn his own world apart at the tender age of one resisted his call.
Tonks had been watching on in silence, her face a blank mask.
"Do you want me to do it?" she whispered, as Umbridge lay in a piteous heap on the floor, moaning.
He shook his head. This was his battle and his alone. Umbridge's eyes flickered open, and even in her mangled, beaten down state, she managed a ghost of her old, simpering smile.
"...a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it."
Harry thought of the millions of defenceless muggles falling ill across the world. Of the curse that was now so intricately bound with non-magical medicine that they may never eradicate it for good. Of his godson and Remus, both of whom had fallen foul of Umbridge's prejudiced loathing. His niece, forced to do her bidding for weeks on end. Ginny, his beloved wife, who had helped him outsmart the High Inquisitor all those years ago when she had been nothing more than an idiotic woman dressed in pink. His own children, to whom he was trying to give the freedom of youth he himself had never known. Tonks, his colleague and friend who stood beside him, whose solidarity to him had not wavered since their first meeting, and whose fight against The Crow had nearly cost her life. And finally of Sirius, who may still be alive if it hadn't been for the vile woman who lay before them.
You need to mean them, Potter.
The wand came slashing through the air.
"Avada Kedavra."
O
Back at the Lupin's house, a long silence fell following Harry's account. He had spared them some of the more graphic details, if only for Hope's sake, who was pale and nauseated, but the explanation had still taken over an hour. Eventually, with nothing more to say and with the clock fast ticking towards sunrise, Harry and Ginny left. Hope was persuaded to go up to bed, leaving her parents alone in the kitchen. They didn't speak for several minutes.
"Are you alright?" Remus murmured at last.
Tonks appeared almost surprised at his question.
"Oh, I'll be fine," she assured him. "I'm more concerned about Harry. This will haunt him for a very long time. And poor Victoire. That curse will take its toll on her. And then I still worry about Hope."
She threw an anxious look towards the staircase her daughter had mounted not long before.
"Are we doing the right thing?" she burst out, turning to Remus in despair. "Telling her everything that we do? Letting her in to all these conversations? Molly would never have allowed her kids to hear everything Harry just told us, at fifteen. Ginny would have been packed off to bed and given a simplified version of events in the morning, if that."
Remus came closer and she rested a tired head on his shoulder. How many times had they asked themselves that question? And it seemed there would never be a straightforward answer to it.
"I know all the arguments for keeping them informed," Tonks added. "I agree with them. But she's little more than child at the end of the day. Our child. And I sometimes worry that in trying to avoid past mistakes, we are just making new, equally destructive ones."
Remus did not reply, but he understood perfectly. Their rational had been solid from the beginning, and shared between all their closest friends. As their young ones embarked along the shaky path to adulthood they would, as parents, be honest and transparent, refrain from keeping them in the dark wherever possible. Secrecy and simplifications would be necessary on occasion, but never would they be brushed off with the excuse that they were too young to understand. Such reasoning had proved destructive in the past, and those errors in judgement would not be repeated.
It had been so easy to do at first, when the children had been too innocent to ask, too naïve to spare a thought to issues outside their daily routines, when choosing what to divulge and when had remained solely within their parents' control. But ignorant bliss could not endure forever. Hope, in particular, was being exposed to a colossal amount of privileged information as she grew up, with Tonks so involved at the Ministry of Magic and Teddy always having the inside knowledge of the ever advancing medical world. Even Remus's work regularly strayed outside the safe territory of magical creatures and into the murky realms of the dark arts. And at what point, he often asked himself, did this knowledge stop being useful? At what point did it become damaging for a teenage girl to be bombarded with such an array of bewildering - even traumatic - insight into matters beyond her control or full comprehension?
Sometimes, he feared they wouldn't know the answer until it was too late.
o
As the situation currently stood, Hope was anxious to know more details, and was pleased the following afternoon when Lily sent her a message through the Floo inviting her round. She accepted gladly. Her parents and Teddy were all in work, despite it being a Saturday, and Dom and Roxanne had informed her that they would need to spend most of the Easter holidays cramming for their NEWTS. As usual, they had asked her to study with them. As usual, Hope had refused, saying she worked better on her own. A lie, but an easy one. At least Lily was unlikely to pester her about the amount of revision she was doing.
"It's all kicking off, isn't it?" Lily whispered, as soon as Hope was out of the fireplace. "Have you heard what's going on? Mum's only told me bits."
Reluctant to go into the details Harry had recounted last night, Hope pretended she knew a lot less than she did, so the Crow conversation was short lived. In the end they curled up on the sofa and swapped all their latest Hogwarts gossip. Lily asked about Adam, and Hope said that all was well. She didn't want to go into details about him either.
To Hope's surprise, Harry was home by five o'clock. She had expected him to be working all hours of the night, and so had Ginny.
"Kinglsey insisted," Harry said shortly, in response to his wife's concerned questions. "We've done the initial interview. The Crow was unresistant to taking veritaserum and has given up all memories associated with Umbridge and The Curse for us to inspect. So next step is to compare his statement with those. Can't be done today. Elabeed's got to approve it. Kinglsey sent everyone home except those on call. I've got some paperwork to do."
He didn't even acknowledge Lily and Hope, and the tense ambiance solidified across the room, made worse only minutes later by the arrival of Albus through the Floo.
"Where have you been?" Lily enquired, as her brother shook a stray bit of ash from his black hair and chucked his satchel in the corner. "Were you with Granny Molly this whole time?"
"No, I went to Scorpius's house for the afternoon."
"You're spending too much time at the Malfoy's house," Harry interjected from the corner.
Lily's mouth fell open in shock at the sharp greeting, while Albus's face creased with hurt and disbelief.
"What?" A glower split his amenable features. "What do you mean, too much time? Since when?"
"Harry-" He ignored the low, warning tone in Ginny's voice.
"Since you spend more time there than you do here."
"That's rubbish," Albus snapped back. "I spend loads of time here as well. And even if that was true, he's my best friend and I'm welcome at his house. His mum says so."
"That doesn't mean you have to accept the invitation. You need to be more careful."
"What the hell is your problem today? Just because your work has blown up you shouldn't take it out on me. It's not my fault."
Ginny intervened at once, forcing Albus to sit down with Lily and Hope and ushering Harry out the room. He stumped up the stairs without comment and she followed him, brown eyes blazing.
"Harry, I know this is hard for you. I know you're hurting. I will help you in any way I can. If you want me, I'm here. If you need to be left alone, then I'll give you space. But I will not let you take this out on the kids. Al's right, it's not fair. What were you even implying by that comment, anyway? That because Umbridge tricked the world into believing she wasn't a threat that the Malfoys are doing the same?"
O
"Maybe I should go," Hope muttered, as Ginny's voice died away behind the closed door and thumping footsteps on the stairs.
"No please stay," Lily begged. Al's morose set to the mouth lifted a little, indicating that he too would like that. Lily pulled a game off the shelf next to her. "Let's play Potion Splendour. You like that one."
The game was one of Hope's favourites, for all it was on the theme of her least favourite subject. Lily dealt out the counters and Albus perked up as he collected the most gem cards and therefore cleaned the floor with both of them for two rounds in a row. Ginny brought them a jug of juice and a plate of biscuits half an hour later, looking more relaxed, and told them that Harry was having a rest. Hope was starting to think that the tension had passed, when James came crashing in.
"Hey Hope!" He jumped up on the chair behind her - she was sitting on the floor - and squeezed her shoulder. "I saw Towler today, he says hi."
Hope was wrong footed. Why couldn't Adam say hi himself, instead of passing a generic lukewarm message through James? She was supposed to be his girlfriend. But she didn't want to let on in front of the Potters, and they didn't comment.
"What are you playing?" James asked.
"Potion Splendour - want to join?" Lily ignored Albus's scowl at the invite and James declined in any case.
"Need to shower. Going out with Talia Windfellow later. You need to do better next round though - looks like Poo Face has walked all over you." This last comment was directed at Albus, who he flicked on the forehead before leaping over the sofa like an excited four-year-old and whizzing upstairs.
"Talia Windfellow must have had a brain injury, to consider dating him," Lily grumbled in disgust. "You shouldn't let him talk to you like that, Al."
"Oh I have a choice, do I?" Albus retorted. "It's alright for you, he's kind to you and looks out for you. He treats Hope like a second sister. Meanwhile he talks to me like I'm a piece of shit, literally." He threw down his handful of counters so that they bounced over the floor and kicked the board for good measure, before storming upstairs like his father had done an hour before.
Hope was upset as he left the room.
"I think I will go home Lil. Sorry."
"No, I don't blame you."
"You can come over for dinner if you want."
"Leave Mum alone with the boys?"
"Fair point."
Lily got up and hugged Hope tightly round the waist.
"Love you, Hope. Thanks for coming round."
Heart suddenly full, Hope returned the embrace, touched by the warmth of it. Some days it felt like it mattered, that her only friends were the Weasley-Potter offspring, that her dormmates all hated her and that her boyfriend was distant. Other days, it didn't matter one bit.
o
o
"You need to apologise to Albus." The suggestion left no room for negotiation, but Harry did not even look up at his wife's remark.
"Albus and I don't do those kind of talks."
"Well, for once you are going to have to. Otherwise he'll think you meant what you said."
More dense silence.
"Harry, you didn't actually mean it, did you? You can't have a problem with Albus and Scorpius being friends?" And when he continued to be unresponsive: "I thought we agreed that their friendship was a blessing. An end to that ridiculous rivalry. We both know Scorpius doesn't have a bad bone in his body."
"It keeps happening," Harry murmured. "Proof that evil runs deep, that poisonous toadstools don't change their spots. If it's not her, it's Greyback. Before Greyback there was the business with Fowlers, remember that? And let's not forget Theodore Nott, during the Surge, heading up a Ministry department while he picked off muggles one by one under our noses."
"We're not talking about them. We're talking about a lovely, innocent boy whose family were showing signs of their true allegiance before the end of the war. You're being a tad-"
Harry finished her sentence for her.
"Paranoid. I know. You're right."
"You'll talk to Albus?"
"Yes, I will talk to Albus."
"And you'll consider some time off work."
"That, I will not do," Harry glared at her in disbelief. "They need me."
She scoffed at this, but sympathetically.
"They need you to be rational, objective and collected. Right now, you are none of those things."
Harry did not reply and Ginny let the matter drop for now. They both knew that she would try again later.
O
Tonks was met by the Minister upon arriving in work on the Monday morning.
"Harry's taking a few days off," he informed her. "His choice - I suspect with Ginny's influence - but I approve. He can't possibly be objective in his current state of mind."
Thank goodness for that, Tonks thought. She and Remus had discussed that precise topic the night before and had agreed on two polarising facts. One; Harry definitely needed some time to come to terms with the recent development and the grief - of sorts - that came with it. Two; he would refuse to see that for himself and may well run himself into the ground managing the investigation. They had underestimated the power and rational common sense of Ginny.
"He should take as much time as he needs," she said. "We can hold the fort here. I'm still on for comparing the memories with the Crow's statement tomorrow, aren't I?"
"Ah," The Minister regarded her with nervous sympathy. "I need to talk to you about that, I'm afraid. Elabeed has said that no one with a potential conflict of interest will take part in The Crow's judgment. That includes those taught by Umbridge when she was a teacher, any colleagues from when she was a Ministry employee, those who judged her initial trial and those with miscellaneous personal bias. You fall under several of those categories."
"What?"
His expression told her he had expected this exact reaction.
"I'm sorry, Tonks. You know it's not personal. Elabeed has to tick all the boxes. Hermione's not involved either and Harry wouldn't be even if he was here. I will oversee the process but even I don't get to input on her final judgement. I've got Bentley taking your place with Cragg and Fairbourne. Elabeed's going to select a couple of others at random from her department and the others will be specialists from memory examination team. They'll do a good job. You know that."
Unable to find a suitable reply, Tonks stumped into the office and threw her bag on her desk. Bentley and Hughes were already there.
"You've heard about Elabeed, then?" Hughes said, glancing up. "I'm sorry, mate. I know you wanted to be involved."
"It's fucking ridiculous."
"It would be a conflict of interest, given the personal animosity your family and friends have for Umbridge," Bentley said. "Elabeed is only doing her job."
The comment was made so reasonably that Tonks couldn't even find a snarky response.
"I don't even care if my opinion isn't taken into account," she muttered, pulling a report towards her at random, trying to hide how truly upset she was about the new development. "I just want to see The Crow's memories."
Her colleagues exchanged bewildered glances.
"Why?" Hughes enquired. "The details will be released once the ruling is final anyway. I'm glad I haven't been selected. They'll be vile, for one thing, and you'd have no chance to do any other work for at least a fortnight, the number of memories he's given up for examination. Why does it matter so much that you see them first hand?"
Her tone was kind, and so Tonks gave the question the consideration it merited. Truth be told, she wasn't sure why she was so upset. The recollections were guaranteed to be unpleasant. The Crow would without doubt be sentenced to life without parole. Umbridge was dead, as she should be, therefore unaffected by the number of crimes pinned on her. Regardless of her personal involvement, justice would be served. So why did it matter so much that she witness the memories first hand? Was she just being nosy? Full of morbid curiosity? Trying to get out of other work?
No.
She had nearly died because of this curse. Not in the heat of battle, nor under attack or pursuit, but in a sterile hospital room with her husband, son, daughter and mother watching on in despair. She had been rendered completely powerless for days on end, and for all she had pretended to be fine since October, those little splinters of trauma pierced still pierced at her whenever she remembered the sensation of absolute fragility brought on by the Crow's spell. The memory examination had been her chance to see first hand the cause of that trauma, and now it had been snatched away.
"It matters," her chin jutted out. "That's all."
Neither Bentley or Hughes had a response to this.
It was not a pleasant day. Tonks pressed her lips together to avoid snapping at her colleagues, knowing that it wasn't their fault. Bentley took Dan away for most of the afternoon to prep him for his final stealth and tracking exam, so that was one stress removed. Nonetheless, the hours crawled and it was with great relief that she heard the clock strike five. Only half an hour and she could go home and rant to Remus who, bless his heart, had to put up with her moaning and snapping because of the ring on his finger.
"Auror Lupin." Maida Elabeed strode in at twenty-five past and Tonks' resolve was tested ever further. It wasn't Elabeed's fault either. As Head of the the Department for Magical law she had to be fair, reasonable and back up her decisions with evidence at every turn. She had held the role for fifteen years and she was an exceptional figurehead.
She was also the last person Tonks wanted to talk to right now.
"Madame Elabeed. Good afternoon." She kept her tone curt but civil.
"Trainee Dan Gunnar will be shadowing our examination of The Crow's memories," Elabeed informed her. "It will be his first experience of a high profile case and therefore it is protocol that his mentor be present as well, for his own wellbeing and to ensure that his progress report is kept accurate."
It took Tonks several moments to register what she had said.
"You need me to come and watch the memories being documented?" she said at last. "To mentor Dan?"
"Yes," Elabeed said. "Unless you feel it is inappropriate for him to be involved at this stage. But he has been recommended and nothing in his progress log indicates that he is not ready. My understanding is that he needs to do a full observation before the end of the year and you won't find a more detailed case than this." Her eyebrows contracted a little, enforcing her previous rule. "You do understand that I cannot permit either of you to partake in the judgement of the trial or to comment on the memories in an official capacity."
"Yes, I understand that. Sounds good. I'll be there."
"Tomorrow then. Room twenty. Nine o'clock sharp."
"Was that your doing?" Tonks turned to Bentley once Elabeed had left in a swish of her robes. For a second he looked about to deny it, then shrugged.
"You said it mattered. I don't pretend to understand your logic Lupin, and I don't know why you'd put yourself through the process if you didn't have to. But the past fifteen years has taught me that your instincts are normally bang on. So there you are."
"You've gone soft, Bentley," Hughes snorted from her corner, before Tonks could find a suitable reply. "I knew you liked us really."
O
It was therefore thanks to the unlikely sensitivity of Auror Bentley that Tonks found herself standing with twenty other colleagues first thing on Tuesday morning. One of the largest teams ever assembled for a memory examination, they were split into pairs, a different focus for each group, with the aim of getting through the recollections as quickly as possible. It had to be done within a fortnight as the memories would then be sent to the International Confederation for conducting their own enquiries.
Tonks, now that it came to it, was relieved that she was not officially tasked with documenting, even though she would have to work longer hours to catch up on other paperwork she had outstanding. Prior experience in smaller investigations had taught her that it was gruelling, draining process and this was no doubt the toughest case to have come up in years. Her role, to oversee Dan's observations, ensure he understood all essential protocols and see that he shadowed each observing pair in equal measure, was easy in comparison, and would also mean they got a better overview of the whole story.
A different mission from what she was accustomed to, but an equally important one.
She was ready.
Elabeed motioned to indicate they should enter the pensive one by one, and Tonks stepped forward, Dan right behind her.
O
"I wasn't ready," she admitted to Remus, later that evening. Forbidden from divulging the details of the memories until the report had been collated, she could at least tell him how they'd made her feel. "I'm still glad I get to see them, and I appreciate Bentley making that happen, but I wasn't prepared for how truly horrendous they were going to be."
He stroked her arm with sympathy, knowing better than to ask for details, while she brooded over what they had witnessed that day. The Crow's earliest memories went as far back as small, scared Orpheus at four years old, cowering in a corner with a book, while a bitter Umbridge snapped at him every time he dared look up from the page. As he grew up, he was made to follow a rigid academic timetable, with everything from mealtimes and bathroom times to the five minutes of fresh air he was allowed to take a day scheduled to the second. Even as a small child, Orpheus made few complaints. On the rare occasion he protested, cried, or tried to push back, his mother's reactions were violent and cruel. By the age of eight, he followed each order he was given without the slightest hint of protest.
"Hell and back was it, that Harry said?" Tonks murmured. "He got that right. We haven't even got to The Crow's teenage years yet."
The following days of observation brought even grimmer revelations to the investigation team. Before their eyes, The Crow grew into a gaunt teenager, embittered against the non-magical world by to the twisted image that Umbridge painted of it. Now that he could work with autonomy, he spent each day poring over books and completing long assignments and tasks while she was at work. The evenings were dedicated to learning spellwork with his father's old wand, under his mother's impatient instruction.
By age fourteen, The Crow had mastered magic beyond the level of most NEWT students. A year later he had learned to apparate within the confines of his house and back garden, although he was not allowed further afield - doing so would be dangerous to his health until he was many years older, his mother warned him. Then, at sixteen, he was told about the curse on which is own father - Marmon Golpalott himself - had theorised, and would have invented had he not tragically died when Orpheus was a baby. As Umbridge would tell her son over and over again, the so called 'curse' was in actual fact a blessing, the key to the survival of wizardkind. Few wizards understood the threat that muggles posed to magical people, she insisted. It was the duty of those few who did, like herself and his late father, to ensure that magical blood came out stronger over time. And now, as a busy single mother providing for both of them, she was relying on him to see it through. It was what his father would have wanted.
Trained from birth to take his mother's word as law, Orpheus raised no objection to the orders he was given and set to work. But creating the Narcoviral Curse was a monstrous task, and while he clearly understood the theories behind it, making it a reality proved impossible in the short term, no matter which angle of approach he attempted. The information needed to create it simply did not exist yet.
Years of gruelling study and singleminded research wore on with limited results, and with each passing month, Umbridge became harsher and more impatient. The second war began, and with it came an almost demented sense of urgency from Umbridge that Orpheus make progress in their goal. Whether her increased desperation stemmed from a desire to collaborate with Voldemort or to oppose him, no one in the investigation team was quite sure. Even Otto Wieshu, an expert in psychology from the St Mungo's team and a master at reading into the finer details, could not say for certain how Umbridge's plans would have tied in with Voldemort's continuing dominion, had it occurred.
"How you holding up Dan?" Tonks asked her protégé, as they ate lunch together on the Thursday with only Bentley for company. The scenes of abuse and cruelty they had witnessed that morning were enough to turn even Ron Weasley's stomach, but they were determinedly munching their sandwiches to keep up their energy for another onslaught that afternoon.
"I'm alright," he assured her, affable as ever. "Horrible as it is, it's really interesting to see how the process works. I feel quite honoured that I get to witness this investigation."
He chewed at a crust of bread for a few moments.
"Was it her plan all along, to have a child with Golpalott and train the kid up?" he said. "That's... a huge gamble, isn't it? How on earth could she predict that her child would be able to do all this?"
"I was talking to Weishu about that earlier." Bentley had decided this comment was worth his input. "He believes that it was never Umbridge's intention to have a child. He thinks she intended to persuade Golpalott to create the Narcoviral Curse himself, and the pregnancy was an unwanted complication. Now, whether she had a hand in his death after Orpheus was born, because she realised he would never co-oporate with such a twisted scheme, or whether he died of natural causes and left her grasping for a new plan of attack... that we may never know, given Potter's-"
He tailed off as Tonks shot daggers at him, daring him to speak ill of Harry for killing Umbridge and robbing them of this knowledge, then changed tack with a shrug of the shoulders "-given that Umbridge is gone - and thank fuck we don't have to wade through her memories too. It would take us all month!"
Tonks could only agree with this. Dan, meanwhile, was still deep in thought.
"So am I right in thinking it all would have come go nothing if The Crow hadn't been smart enough to learn the magic on his own, or if he hadn't understood the theory behind the curse?"
"I would say so," Tonks said. "There's no way Umbridge had the brains to invent it herself, even with Golpalott's old documents." She thought back to the Umbridge she had known decades before and had to give her reluctant credit. "But from what we've seen this past week, she was a way better teacher than she ever let on at Hogwarts. And far more shrewd than she showed at the Ministry. I'm guessing the girlish woman in pink was a bit of an act."
One that had worked, she thought bitterly. There was no denying that the Umbridge in her own home, dressed in stark grey robes with not a smile or pink cardigan in sight, was far more intimidating, and would have cut a very different picture at the Ministry and Hogwarts. If her plan had been to appear as a simpering, foolish woman to deflect suspicion of her most intrinsic aims, she had succeeded in that at least.
Even when it came to the fall of Voldemort and end of the second war, it became clear that Umbridge had not been naive enough to deem this outcome impossible. She sprang into action the moment Kinglsey was announced as temporary Minister, moving Orpheus to a safe house - the very same Norfolk cottage where they had tracked him down - so that he would not be found when the ministry officials raided her own home. All important documents, including Golpalott's affairs, were moved with him. Orpheus was allowed back to her house only at specific times, and she could not visit him, for the Ministry had placed tracking spells on her while she awaited trial. There was no chance of her running away, and her plan for her longterm removal from Azkaban took even her stolid son by surprise.
Orpheus gazed back as his mother with disbelief as she finished her explanation.
"It is the only way," she said, pacing in front of him. "I know Shacklebolt. If he gets his way I'll be sent to Azkaban and I won't be allowed to appeal. So my only ticket out of that hell hole is if they think I'm at death's door. That means you have to find a way to do that."
His sunken eyes darkened further.
"You- you want me to give you an illness? A real illness that healers will recognise, but in a way that doesn't really make you ill?"
He floundered on her impatient confirmation.
"But that's not possible."
"Then make it possible," she hissed, eyes bulging. "You know what is at stake, don't you? Everything I've ever taught you? You understand the consequences on our lives and every magical life on this earth if our goal should fail."
Panic flared in his normally emotionless eyes. He had no way of knowing the tragic and ironic truth, that her imprisonment represented his only chance at freedom.
"Why does it have to be a disease that exists already?" he persisted. "Why can't we give you random symptoms - a new sickness. It would be easier, I'm sure-"
"Too risky," she cut back. "They'll test until they find an answer and if they can't find one then suspicions will be raised. It has to be a certified illness that has no cure."
"But there's no way I can fabricate one accurately enough to dupe the medical tests they carry out in the hospital."
"That's exactly what I've just been telling you," she snarled, furious at his slow uptake. "You need to find an illness that is diagnosed by symptoms only, not through testing. Many exist. So that you induce symptoms but not an illness itself. Do you understand?"
Resigned and out of protests, Orpheus returned to his new home to start yet another punishing task.
"That was his chance, wasn't it?" The youngest of Elabeed's team was nonplussed as they finished their observations for the morning. "He didn't have to do any of this, he could have run away the second she sent him to that safe house. She was in no position to follow him - the Ministry would have caught up within minutes."
"The idea would not have occurred to him." Weishu swept a strand of his long, straggly hair out of his face as he responded. Arrogant at times, the rest of the team were putting up with him because his input was invaluable. "His entire belief system was formed around the notion that muggles were evil and the Narcoviral Curse plan was the only means of a sustainable future. Running away would have been as inconceivable to him as..." he cast around for a suitable example, "as setting this room on fire would be for us right now."
"Not so unthinkable at the moment," Mina Tavish grumbled. Her current task was documenting every single tome that had been present in The Crow's work base, and her eyes were bloodshot from the strain of peering at each individual title on his many shelves. "I'll burn the whole bloody building if I have to look at many more book spines."
"Three more hours, then we get a weekend," Tonks reminded her, but she sympathised. The four and a half days that had elapsed since the beginning of the memory investigation had lasted an eternity, even with her own role being less cumbersome than most.
Their final observations of the week brought them to the day before Umbridge's trial. By this time, Orpheus had managed to identify an illness that met his mother's strict criteria, although inducing a convincing but harmless version of Gorsemoor's would, as the team already knew, take him a further decade of relentless work. Umbridge had agreed to the disease with considerable reluctance, given the limitations the symptoms would impose on her, and with no better options, the rough plan for her eventual escape was set in motion.
The night before the trial, mother and son stood face to face in her sparsely furnished living room. There were no heartfelt goodbyes and certainly no tears, rather a verbal checklist of everything that Orpheus would need to remember once she was gone.
"You understand the protocol for visits to Azkaban," she said.
"Yes."
"And you have the picture of Silas? You know that you must under no circumstances show your own face if you visit me. If you cannot track down my useless brother, you will have to come up with a different disguise."
"I understand that."
"You have all the documents and information I've given you on the Ministry, and the hospital?"
"All sorted alphabetically in the study at the cottage."
"You've stored my wand in a safe place."
"Exactly where you told me to put it."
"And you know that your best chance of making progress is to get me into that hospital as fast as possible, so I can get information to you in turn?"
"I'm working on it, Mother. Every hour of every day. You know I am."
In his voice, even now, there was a plea for recognition, maybe even praise, of all he was doing for her. He received none.
"Finally." As ever, her smile contained no affection. "You understand that if this should fail-"
"So does the magical race," he recited tonelessly. He had heard it many a time before.
"Naturally," she said. "But if that does not motivate you then consider this; if you should fail, you lose the only person in this world who has ever cared about you. Never forget that. I know I won't."
That was the extent of their goodbyes. They did not share a parting touch. Orpheus was on the verge of leaving when something occurred to him, apparently for the first time. He turned back towards Umbridge.
"They might let you off."
"What?" Her eyes narrowed.
"You might not get sent to prison tomorrow. I might not need to do any of this."
Her lip curled, but she gave him no response, merely motioned that he should leave her alone.
"Despicable," Cragg spat, as they emerged from the pensieve once more. "The last words she said to her son face to face were that she cared about him. Fucking bitch. God, I hope Potter made her suffer before he killed her."
Oh he did, Tonks thought, although she knew better than to say the words out loud. She did not intend for anyone to know the exact details of Harry and Umbridge's final encounter, not even Remus.
"She left him every document you could imagine." Tavish had reappeared too, clutching her pages of immaculate notes. "Every scrap of information she could obtain on the ministry, the hospital, the workings of Azkaban, you name it. She must have been collating it for years. We have to hand it to her. She left him well prepared."
"Thankfully not quite prepared enough," Weishu grunted. "He had no interpersonal skills at all and no understanding on a practical level of how the nuances of human interactions work. That's where he made his mistakes - assumed he knew how governments and individuals were going to react to him, then floundered when his schemes didn't play out exactly as he'd planned."
"He's still responsible for over two million lives lost," Cragg snapped at him. "Pretty small mistakes from his part if you look at those figures."
"And Strike Three would have likely cost nearer to a billion lives had we not heeded the details in The Crow's warnings," Weishu said, ever calm. "I'm not trying to minimise any loss of life here- my own grandfather died from this curse, you know. My job is to look at where The Crow failed and where he succeeded, and I believe his chronic lack of social intelligence was his downfall in the end."
Thankfully, Elabeed called them all to attention before any awkwardness could ensue, for Weishu's eyes were narrowed and Cragg was shame faced. Under strict instructions to get a significant rest over the weekend and come back ready to observe the second half of The Crow's dismal life the following week, the team were dismissed.
Tonks did not need telling twice. She lingered long enough to check Dan was still OK - holding up well by all accounts - before making a dash for the apparition zones at the ministry entrance. She could not wait to get home, back to her comfortable sofa where she could sit and process the exhausting revelations of the day, to her husband who would be waiting with his kind smile, strong arms and (if she was lucky) a delicious meal. Above all, she was anxious to see her children, to show them if it were ever in doubt the love that burned for them within her heart. For they had witnessed that week the terrible and destructive power of a loveless mother, and Tonks ached to counteract that in any way she could.
What chance did he have with her for a mother? Harry had asked the previous week.
Judging by The Crow's memories, no chance at all.
OOO