In which a lot of answers are provided, and the perspective of the founders is presented.
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This chapter is about twice as long as the usual one, but we decided against splitting it in two. You've been warned ;)
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A_A
Hermione was nervous. She couldn't understand how Harry could be so relaxed and bicker with Helga about the colour of her dress. Apparently, for some unexplained reason, he was convinced that all her clothes were yellow or black. Hermione could also find it funny if they weren't five minutes from knocking on You Know Who's metaphorical doors and literally crossing the threshold of his fireplace…
"Just look at that. Yellow looks good on you, dear!" Helga said fervently, causing Hermione to turn and look at them. Apparently, bickering went past the words as Harry stood dressed from head to toe in warm, rich yellow. Helga transfigured everything, down to his shoes.
"I look like a lemon wannabe," Harry complained, trying not to laugh.
"I would argue for a pear," Rowena said, her lip twitching, "One just ripe for picking."
"I'm not going like that!"
"But why not? It's our colour… I could add a badger pattern if you wish. In black, of course. What do you say, Harry dear?" Helga said, and her wand twitched without waiting for a response, decorating the robe with little badgers. One over the other and rows beside them, each in the same style as the one on the Hufflepuff crest.
"Awesome," Harry said when the badgers scattered throughout the material, running around, sniffing at the stitches, and disappearing on the left side of the robe. "But I'm still not going like that."
"Would you like to wear some other colour?" Helga pecked a little, but she was already cancelling spells.
"I guess we go then?" Hermione asked through her clenched throat.
"I suppose you won't get less nervous," Rowena replied. "You will see for yourself and understand. Who goes first?"
Hermione observed with trepidation as Helga entered the fireplace, followed by Harry. Then, it was her time. She took her breath and tried to muster herself to move forward.
"It's going to be just fine, Hermione. You have justified concerns but also irrefutable arguments that nothing dangerous will happen."
"Yes. Yes, I have," Hermione straightened and tossed some Floo into the fireplace. The list of the arguments ran through her head as she stepped into the flames. A short, whirly trip later, she emerged in the gloomy, dark room… filled with laughter. It wasn't what she expected. She quickly spotted Helga in her bright blue dress with ribbons flowing in the air surrounding her quickly gesticulating arms. Just next to her stood a redheaded man laughing wholeheartedly, and Harry – again in the yellow robe full of badgers. Neville tried not to laugh. Only the two other people in the room looked completely unamused. The elderly woman had a stern expression, and the man next to her was in robes so dark that Hermione wouldn't have noticed him in the dimly lit room if not for the pale skin. He was shorter but almost as thin as she was and a little older than others. When the fireplace glowed bright green again, she noticed that his arms were crossed, and the fingers of his left hand tapped on his right forearm with irritation.
"Everybody's here, I see," said Rowena, and Hermione felt a thin hand squeezing comfortingly her arm. She drew the attention of the unamused pair who had come over for introductions. For a moment, Hermione forgot about her worries, too excited to meet the rest of the founders and – apparently – Neville's grandmother. Still, she couldn't join the colour-related jokes or anything that followed as they progressed to another room. Hermione looked around carefully, with one ear listening to how Harry and Neville talked with Godric about the incoming Finals in Quidditch. Here's the topic to talk about with living history—the undying importance of four balls. She had to roll her eyes. She couldn't stop herself. But then Rowena joined the conversation, apparently interested. It was then that Hermione noticed Rowena's wand for only a moment, switching quickly, and when a little lion cub started chasing a butterfly on the hem of Godric's robe, Rowena turned to Hermione with a straight face—and winked. At this point, Hermione couldn't hold a slight chuckle.
A little lion cub jumped, played, and hunted with the whole dedication he could muster, reminding Hermione of the Disney cartoons. Godric seemed to be entirely unaware, too engrossed in the problem of Victor Krum being the only asset of the Bulgarian national team against the excellent set of Irish Chasers. Observing them, Hermione didn't even notice how someone joined them just before they entered the room. She noticed that only after sitting on the loveseat next to Rowena, as the older woman indicated the spot. And when she noticed, she froze.
You Know Who looked just as others described him. He was so pale that his skin looked white and thin as paper, with slits in the place of a nose and deeply red eyes. He wasn't looking at Hermione, not even close, but at Augusta Longbottom, who was saying something to him. Hermione couldn't hear the words at the start, but only after a few heartbeats, she needed to calm herself.
"…we need to be clear before any of this proceeds. I will not stand for terrorism, and any cooperation from my side and, by extension, my grandson's depends on that."
"Terrorism does not suit our plans," the man said calmly, slowly, "Neither senseless murder and torture you mentioned. You have my apologies for what happened to your son and his wife, as it was not my intention. I cannot offer you meaningful retribution, at least not now."
The woman raised her chin, a little placated.
"I have already made arrangements with Godric," she stated proudly. "I will have my revenge when all the people responsible will be dead."
Hermione gasped, but she was the only one to react in shock and resentment. Helga and Rowena were waiting for the conversation to end. Harry looked questioningly at Neville, but the boy was looking at his lap. While You Know Who and Salazar seemed dissatisfied.
"Excuse me?" Salazar asked, looking at Godric. "Bartemius is useful. Why would you promise anything like that?"
"I promised the Lestranges," Godric noted. "Augusta asked for their heads."
"On the assumption that Barty Crouch Junior is dead," the woman said sharply, "Are you saying he's not?"
"Indeed, Barty is alive, and I will not allow him to be killed for revenge," responded You Know Who. And the conversation suddenly outgrew any of Hermione's expectations to such an extent that she could only look back and forth, disoriented. Her thoughts sprinted, looking for explanations. Why would Neville's grandmother demand murder? Why would You Know Who of all people refuse?! And who was this Barty they talked about?
"He tortured my son and daughter-in-law," Augusta replied fervently. "He is the reason for which they remain in the hospital for thirteen years, barely recognising their son! Barely talking!"
"He was an overeager teenager, narrowly after school, who did what he was told to do. He was told to stand on the side, observe, and learn. And I say," Here You Know Who had to raise his voice a little, as Augusta was ready to interrupt, "that he learned his lesson. He spent a year in Azkaban, then twelve under the Imperius Curse, locked and kept by his father. That is enough for what he had done, which is just watching."
"Just watching?!" Augusta exclaimed. "There's no just watching such a torture as my child endured. No sane and decent person would be able to just watch."
"Yes, it is," Helga said gently, "when one is taught to obey superiors' orders and when one finds the only place he feels at home, one family he can count on, and is loyal to them. They were the only people who accepted him, the ones who lost and searched for their leader. They have committed a horrible crime." She looked sharply at You Know Who. "But Barty's crime was not the act itself, but lack of interference. And that did not come out of his ill will. He wasn't even aware of the consequences of the prolonged Cruciatus Curse."
"That doesn't change the fact that my son suffers those consequences," declared Augusta, and Hermione couldn't tell who was right, but she definitely opposed the murder of any kind, and if hearing Helga made her hopeful that this Barty wouldn't be murdered, Augusta just put the hope down.
"I suppose I could cure them," You Know Who proposed lightly.
"Experienced Healers tried and failed, Tom. There's no cure," Augusta replied coldly, "I searched for a cure here and abroad, consulted the most esteemed Healers. There is no cure."
"I haven't tried," the man countered.
"And you are as arrogant as you always were. Even when time after time Minerva and I took you out of some closet, beaten up and too proud to give a single thank you."
After her words, something weird happened. Something Hermione never heard or read about and certainly never felt. It was like the air would thicken and darken, making breathing harder.
"It was your responsibility as a prefect. You haven't done it from the goodness of your hearts," You Know Who replied in an even calmer tone than before.
"Still, it wouldn't hurt you to…"
"Enough," Salazar snapped, "Bickering children…"
"And he is correct, Augusta," added Rowena, "Modern view on magic is so skewed and the views so limited that Tom truly has much better chances of finding the cure. Not to mention that I will help. In exchange for Barty's life."
Hermione held her breath, looking at the elderly lady, when she decided in silence.
"We have a deal," Augusta declared. "But my agreement with Godric stands."
"Fine by me," Godric smiled broadly, but You Know Who apparently wasn't satisfied with the result, as he started, "The Lestranges…"
"Enough. They die, Barthemius lives, and you work on a cure," Salazar said irritably. "You should have adequately trained your followers, and this problem could be avoided entirely."
"Well said," Augusta agreed, clearly content, finally sitting at the last empty spot. "Now, will you serve us some tea? Or were we supposed to bring our own?"
"Bartemius will bring it in a moment," Salazar replied, now calmer, but his tone still bore the edge of annoyance. "What is wrong with your robe, Godric?"
It drew everyone's eyes, even Hermione's, to the red fabric. But most needed a second to locate a playful lion cub climbing the decorative pattern at the hem straight to the buttons on Godric's chest. Helga, Harry, and Godric laughed openly at the familiar joke while Neville again tried to restrain his amusement.
"Is it too much to ask for some serious attitudes?" Salazar was not amused. "One could think that a thousand years was enough to gather some dignity, Rowena."
"A little smile wouldn't kill you, Sal. I believe that we have enough serious issues to allow ourselves a little pleasure. Oh, here you are, Barty. Good to see you. Would you be so kind as to bring some apple pie as well?"
Hermione tore her eyes from the lion cub (now entertained by the butterfly and Godric) and looked at the man placing a tray on the table. He was young, in fact. Although he looked gaunt and sickly, his fair hair was mate, and his skin had a yellowish hue. He avoided looking in the direction of either Augusta Longbottom or You Know Who, apparently rather uncomfortable, but he smiled at Rowena, acknowledging her request, and left in a hurry. But his posture and the way he moved - none of this suggested general cowardice or shyness. He must have known about the discussion that just took place. But Hermione couldn't feel sorry for him after hearing what happened to Neville's parents. She looked at Neville to find him clenching his feast, although he looked relatively calm and composed otherwise.
Hermione didn't really think about drinking tea or eating pie, while the company and topics discussed were enough to spoil the best appetite—for Hermione, at least. The rest seemed not to have such a problem. Finally, Hermione ended up with a cup in her hand, even if she had just held it there without much intention behind it.
"This is the best time to tell you the story of Magic and our story," Rowena said, drawing attention to herself. "I want to explain what we want to accomplish and why. I will not detail personal stories, which would be beside the point. We tried to be brief while talking to you previously to avoid unnecessary conversation redundancy."
"In our youth, the world looked significantly different than it does now. The wizards rarely united. There were no official organisations besides the Wizards Council, which gathered the chosen of the oldest ones. The Wizard Council did not interfere with the daily life of the singular wizards; they were asked for judgement and guidance. Wizards lived spread among the muggles, some more open about their abilities than others. There weren't many of us, and there was rarely more than one family in a village. The knowledge and customs were passed through generations and shared among scholars who took adepts of exceptional skills. Those scholars knew and guarded the secrets of magic, shared and discussed in closed circles."
"Through the ages, it became a tradition for the most talented and the best educated to become druids and serve the community with their knowledge and skill as spiritual leaders, historians, healers, teachers, and advisers. This tradition continued and spread around Europe. For many years, the druids guarded and collected knowledge, passing it on to the next generations. It was an excellent time to be a wizard. It meant a significant social status and a peaceful life. At least usually," Rowena smiled slightly, "but it didn't last."
"Other cultures had their traditions. In most, wizards and witches played a part in religious beliefs, organising themselves similarly. We haven't had much contact with each other; there wasn't a need. However, we shared knowledge. The most important of which is considered the essential truth about the origins of magic. Magic is always present in nature, just like water. In contrast to water, however, sometimes while used, it disintegrates. Other times, it doubles or triples its amount. And it always spreads around, equalising the quantity around the earth, just like air. It cannot be kept in one place."
"Spells performed by one person simply use the magic that exists. Complex rituals cause the magic to multiply, and the more people, muggles or wizards, participate in the ritual, the more potent it is. During these spiritual congregations, wizards performed regular rituals to gain what was needed for the community they served. It wasn't important what religion it was or which gods were worshipped. If they ever existed, what was never sufficiently proven. What was important, was that wizards gathered people who gave their faith to obtain the results. The more people gave, the better the result for the intention, such as a good harvest or a gentle winter. The better the result, the more magic was released to this world. And we lived in a world brimming with magic."
"Through the ages, plenty of laws were created to punish the harmful magic. It was always justified—murder, theft of fruitfulness of crops, and so on. As muggles executed the laws, it wasn't rare that someone was punished unjustly. But wizards attempted to limit such cases. The newer religions brought first banishment and then a death penalty not only for using harmful magic but for using magic, suspicion of using magic, or simply being a witch. Moreover, it was also illegal to state that magic exists because there was no place for such a thing. It was difficult in our times, but I hear that it was even worse in the next centuries. Some of us attempted to integrate. Such as my father. However, unsuccessfully. He was executed for using magic, and the rest of my family was imprisoned. Except for my uncle and myself. We fled to druids hidden among the hills of Powys, where I met Helga."
"Helga and her family were among those who hid their abilities from outsiders, standing on the border between new and old beliefs and defending the old beliefs. They defended our territories from new influences and new ways. We started working on the wards that could protect us from the eyes of muggles. We fought back. And those fights, smaller or bigger, were constantly happening on our borders. The same happened in Alba's forests, where Salazar and Godric lived. It was possible to hold to old beliefs in forests and closed communities, as they did. But it quickly became apparent to Helga and me that the number of teachers is growing thinner, and the students are always in danger. We started to look for a safer place. Further from civilization. A safe forest."
"We travelled north, trying to increase our distance from the kingdoms of the future England and the Vikings. There, we met Salazar and Godric. The four of us went further north. We chose a forest that seemed safe, and we invited others to join—wizards and creatures from wherever they would like to come. It was much later and took a long time before Hogwarts was built and ready to use. Children came to us to learn and stayed for as long as they wished. With most of them, we created a teaching program. And we spent years writing books on the knowledge that was passed to us from our teachers."
"We knew that the knowledge could be lost either way. Salazar made many ugly predictions about the actions of muggles. From what I know from history books that I've read recently, most of them became a reality during the next centuries. We worked on long-term measures that could either ensure the safety of Hogwarts or allow us to start again in the future. One of them was, of course, wards that we created and advanced. Second, books that were copied and spread around England. Hidden from Muggles. Third was heavily discussed and this discussion led to the misunderstanding of the millennium."
"You see, we knew back then that all born with magic to the muggle parents had in the previous generation a person born with magic to wizarding parents. Descendants of squibs. We were careful about following the family lines. The problem started when more and more wizarding children were born from Muggles among those who converted to a new faith. Some of them reached our forest and school. Few brought with them missionaries and soldiers. Two times, we lost many people, including students. Salazar argued that the muggle-born students should not be admitted, as they pose the danger of bringing more enemies. But we decided against it, increasing security instead."
"The fourth measure we undertook was creating a Horcrux. Its ongoing function was to sort the students into Hogwarts' Houses. It also gathered knowledge to assess the state of magic. In case of trouble, it aimed to pass information to one of our heirs, informing this child about how to bring us back and where to find more information. Tom was informed when he was eleven. Since then, he has aimed to resurrect us, but as long as he was unable to, he tried to spread our views and knowledge. Unfortunately, what he knew was wrong. And it was wrong because the knowledge and views he knew of were skewed and lacking in detail. It is not surprising, as we can see, that most of the basic knowledge was lost to time or twisted by those who copied the original text, whether by additions, ignorance or misunderstanding. It results in the conviction that magic is ubiquitous but says nothing about its nature and necessity to multiply it."
"Now that he brought us back we explained where he was wrong and our actual aim. Knowing what you do now, you will probably understand that we believe that the best, or maybe the only good thing, wizards decided on was introducing the Statue of Secrecy. The worst was losing essential knowledge about where magic comes from. We wish to educate wizards properly. We must bring back the forgotten practices because the current state has brought a significant lack of magic to the modern world. We also learned about currently enforced laws that are counterproductive, if not harmful, such as excluding creatures from our society. All of that needs to change if you wish to have any magic in the future - besides the essential amount that allows nothing more than a couple of tricks to the strongest of mages."
Rowena stopped speaking and refilled her cup. The tea service was lovely. It was made of white, gentle porcelain painted with blue vines and birds. It was adorable, fragile. Suited Rowena and her navy blue dress. But the cling of a cup on a tea saucer was prominent in the silence.
"But why… why You Know Who waited so long?" Hermione asked, looking at Rowena, "Why not act instantly? If he would bring you back instantly, the war could be avoided!"
"I'm not sure if it's flattering or laughable that you can sit around four feet from me but not say my name, Miss Granger." She heard the calm voice from the side and turned instantly. "There are a few reasons. First, I was a child and understood almost nothing from what was said to me. It took years even to find the term Horcrux in the Hogwarts library. The founders wrongly assumed that the heir would have a possibility to reach out to older, more experienced wizards. When I had knowledge, I lacked the ingredients and funds to obtain them. After I had everything, I lacked the heirs needed to secure the bond of the resurrected with the world. It is possible to obtain it through measures such as the remains of a close relative, which I have used in my case. But the remains of close relatives to our founders are… nonexistent. Meanwhile, Rowena had no legitimate magical heirs, and the heirs of Godric and Helga sat in the pocket of Albus Dumbledore, who had goals standing in complete opposition to ours, especially as I understood it at the time. Frank Longbottom and Lily Potter wouldn't hear what I have to say or participate in such dark magic as they perceived them."
"When I learned that the mothers of you three are pregnant simultaneously, I might have… interfered a little to ensure that you, Miss Granger, will be a witch. I knew you wouldn't be tainted initially, so I intended to observe and wait for the appropriate time. On the other hand, Mr. Potter and Mr. Longbottom… They were to be influenced by Dumbledore from the crib. I intended to relocate them to other, more traditional families to ensure that didn't happen. Unfortunately, the events unfolded in exact opposition to my plans when I entered the Potter house thirteen years ago. A lot was planned against me and behind the back of Lily and James Potter. It was supposed to be a kidnapping and turned out to be a triple murder."
"Harry lived," Hermione noticed.
"Yes, but I have not," there was amusement in You-Know… the man's voice. "That was murder, Miss Granger, by Albus Dumbledore. I am not sure what exactly happened that night, but..."
"But you have killed my parents," Harry said, and Hermione heard in his voice that he barely held his anger on the leash. And she knew how long that leash was.
"Yes, I have. Your father saw the world precisely as Dumbledore told him to and sponsored his agenda without limits. He was also a fierce opponent in the war. It made absolutely no sense not to kill him. I tried to spare your mother for a couple of reasons. She was the heiress, your mother, possibly she might be convinced to change her mind about our cause after meeting Helga, and… I was asked not to kill her. But she wouldn't join then, and she wouldn't let me take you. Unfortunately, as soon as I killed her and wanted to pick you up and leave… I died. Even before making a step in your direction. Interesting, don't you think?"
"No, not really, dickhead. Of course, my parents wouldn't let you kidnap me!"
"I might have underestimated the bond between parent and child," the man admitted coldly. "However, I was convinced that they would prefer to live than lose a replaceable child. One can always have more."
"Then you're dense," snorted Harry. Hermione tensed, wondering why Harry would so stubbornly try to anger this man, but... Voldemort apparently found it amusing.
"And you are unmannered, but I suppose that's my fault. Growing up with this sort of muggles does this to people… Or maybe it's not my fault. Have you wondered why you grew up with the Dursleys instead of some nice, magical family that would be happy to have you? The famous Boy Who Lived? The child of war heroes?"
"They were my family," Harry shrugged, "The only one I had."
"Really?" Voldemort raised his non-existent eyebrows, and Hermione already knew what was coming. And she wasn't mistaken. "That is a fact now, but it wasn't then. Your grandparents were alive, as were your grandaunt and her son. Your godparents were around and well. However, all relatives of your father died not long after your parents, your innocent godfather got locked in Azkaban, and your godmother lost her sanity. You might be surprised to know that I am responsible only for the fate of your godmother… and that's only by extension. What's more, I learned that during the same year, all applications for your adoption from your extended family, meaning Blacks, Malfoys, Fleamonts, Bulstrodes, and Tonks, withdrew their applications without explanation, while others were rejected without verification. You lived with your muggle relatives for a year before all your possible magical guardians died or could not care for you for other reasons. Even you must find that interesting."
Harry remained silent. But Hermione knew this type of angry silence. It tended to precede a storm. But You Know Who didn't know and continued after a short while.
"You should also know that I planned on placing you with Cygnus and Druella Black. You were one of the heirs to their lordship, currently the only one. I have always liked Cygnus and heard that he was a good father. He and his wife were also eager to accept the responsibility, as their daughters just left the house."
When Harry stood up, the sound of breaking porcelain rang out as a considerable part of the tea service broke to pieces either on the table or in the hands of listeners. Hermione quickly put her cup back on the table.
"Well fuck you!" Harry shouted. "Fuck you because if my parents didn't die, I wouldn't have the problem, and fuck the asshole…!"
"Dumbledore," Voldemort provided calmly, not bothered by the mess or the screaming. He seemed content with the result, which irked Hermione.
"Well then fuck Dumbledore!" Harry wanted to continue, but his voice broke at the end; some realisation crossed his face, and he bolted out of the room as the rest of the porcelain and a couple of glass elements shattered.
"Oh dear…. We'll be back in a jiffy," Helga said, leaving the room after Harry. For a moment, there was silence, during which Rowena fixed the broken objects, and Hermione wondered whether she could go as well, try to comfort Harry somehow. She could only imagine how he must have felt hearing about the deaths of his parents from their murderer, only to learn a moment later that he didn't have to withstand abuse for years and that the person he trusted so much was responsible for as many bad things in his life. She thought about Sirius and ugly suspicion that Dumbledore knew about his innocence and that he could have orchestrated much more than it was said here… She recalled her own resentment towards the elderly headmaster after learning that he knew about everything that happened with the Philosopher's Stone and allowed the eleven-year-old to meet with Voldemort.
"You could have been more considerate," Rowena commented, filling her fixed cup with fresh tea. "He needed to learn this, and we still need to inform him about the rest, but maybe someone else should tell him?"
"There's nothing wrong with a little bit of broken porcelain," responded Godric, "He has a right to be pissed. I would be as well. However, I would probably cut you to pieces, Tommy-boy. You, Dumbledore, those muggles…"
"You don't need to explain that to me," Voldemort responded coldly. "And I will tell him the rest in the same way as I started."
"Do you truly believe that Albus Dumbledore orchestrated all of this?" Augusta asked. "Including the deaths of Potters? And what did you mean by the innocence of his godfather?"
"Sirius Black is innocent," Hermione provided quickly, "It was Peter Pettigrew. He was the one who betrayed Harry's parents. He killed all these muggles and faked his death. We talked with both of them a month ago, but Pettigrew escaped, and when we told Headmaster Dumbledore about everything, he believed us. He told us to use a time turner to rescue Sirius and the hippogryph that was to be beheaded that evening."
She observed the impression made on the gathered, and apparently, only Neville and his grandmother were oblivious to what Hermione had just said until the point of the time turner. Then, all of them looked surprised.
"Peter Pettigrew is in the kitchen if you wish to see him, Augusta," offered Salazar.
"Are you collecting murderers?" she huffed.
"You have Wormtail here?" Asked Harry from the doors. The note of hope in his voice told Hermione that he already thought about handing him to the Ministry. And she wasn't wrong. "Then deliver him to the dementors! Sirius is innocent! He doesn't have to run and hide. Just hand the rat to the Aurors!"
"I strongly agree with the boy," Augusta supported him. "The situation demands action; we cannot allow the criminal to run free while the innocent man pays the price."
"Now?" Voldemort asked. "Or shall we finish the conversation first?"
"Now," Harry demanded angrily. To Hermione's surprise, Voldemort pulled his sleeve up and touched a mark on the forearm that she couldn't see clearly. Just a moment later, they heard the door slam downstairs and quick steps on the stairs. The grown-ups seemed to understand well what happened, but Harry and Neville seemed as disoriented as Hermione. Soon, a dirty, balding man looking like a rat entered the room. And Hermione frowned. She hoped never to see him again.
"My Lord?" He asked in a squeaky voice.
"Now it's my lord?" Harry asked bitingly. "And just a month ago, you fawned over Ron, calling him your master and asking if you were a good pet."
"Harry… you're here…" Peter whimpered, "So you see… You now know…" He started, and Hermione felt the same disgust she felt in the Shrieking Shack. But it lasted much shorter than then. No one explained anything or talked too much. Voldemort took his wand out, and in a moment, Peter was a rat locked in a cage. Augusta summoned the cage to herself.
"I will take him," she said decisively. "I will deliver him straight to Amelia Bones first thing in the morning. She will make sure that justice is served appropriately."
Observing the whole situation, Hermione thought that it must have been planned. They knew that Harry would want something like that. They were ready. Voldemort, for sure, and the founders… probably too. They must have been prepared with Barty as well. He didn't show up until the conversation was over. They must have planned everything. Somehow, she felt it was bad and inappropriate. But her other side whispered that she would also plan such things in detail, having to inform many people about many important things.
"Shall we continue?" Asked Rowena, bringing Hermione back to reality. "Harry?"
"I guess…" He sat back down. "We were somewhere around Voldemort is a dick, killed my parents while trying to kidnap me… Then, he would probably do the same with Neville, but that's supposed to be just fine because it was for the cause, right? But Dumbledore popped up and made everything even worse. Do I have it right?"
"Yes," Voldemort nodded, "Excluding your offensive remarks. But we've established that you're unmannered."
Hermione looked at him, bemused. She never thought she would meet someone who was more emotionally stunted than Ron. Kidnapping might be better than killing, but still, it was an awful thing to do, especially since the goal was to change one influence to another. She could admit that the situation was suspicious, and Professor Dumbledore's involvement raised many questions, but still.
"You haven't answered all of my questions," noted Augusta. "I want to know, do you truly believe that Albus Dumbledore orchestrated all that you talked about, including the deaths of Potters? Do you have any proof to support this claim?"
Yes, Hermione wanted to hear the answers as well. Even though she wouldn't blindly believe whatever they were. But she wanted, needed, to know, to understand the reasoning behind what happened and what they planned. She needed to put it together with what she knew. Find the difference between one influence and the other.
"What do you know about Dumbledore's political goals overall?" Voldemort responded with a question.
"He strives for equality between wizards no matter their heritage, of course. Purebloods, half-bloods, Muggleborns, of course. But he also speaks for creature rights. He always encourages us all to open up for Muggles and their culture and stands highly against Dark Arts and those who use it. The exact opposition to yourself, I would say. It, therefore, seems natural that his actions are aimed against yours and vice versa. Isn't that correct?"
"Undoubtedly. But I claim there's more to this. Just as what I say, what I do, and what I aim at is never… precisely aligned. After all, there are some things you cannot share with the broader audience."
"Yes, yes, we are aware of how politics works," Augusta said, but Hermione shook her head.
"We do not," she protested, "Harry, Neville, and I have no experience in politics. And I'd like to hear everything."
"As Augusta said, Dumbledore declares that he wants equality for all wizards, no matter their blood status, equal rights for creatures, and complete banishments of Dark Arts, including artefacts, rituals, and wizards. And finally, for wizards to strive for a better understanding of muggles and their culture. That is what he says. If you look closely at his votes in the Wizengamot, you will see what he does. True to his words, he and his men are supportive of laws that result in more influence and rights for muggle-born wizards, further limitations on Dark Arts and any practices that are even remotely considered dark for any reason, and inclusion of Muggle customs and culture into wizarding customs and culture. Simultaneously, he never objected and often supported laws limiting creature rights, laws of pureblood wizards, and laws confining wizarding customs and culture. Which means?" The red eyes landed directly at Hermione, and she squirmed anxiously but wouldn't be herself if she didn't give the answer when she knew it.
"He's true to his word only partially. And what he does results in significant changes in the wizarding culture. I assume that this is enhancing the effect Rowena spoke about."
"Precisely. He pursues this agenda not only in the Wizengamot but also in the International Confederation of Wizards, which means that changes of this nature occur worldwide. Therefore, the depletion of magic is a worldwide problem. I assume that he is unaware of this particular result of his actions and that his knowledge is as limited as mine was when I incorrectly chose the elimination of Muggleborns and not only their cultural influence."
"Like that could happen to everybody," Harry snorted. "An honest mistake, huh? War, mass murder, a dead body here and there, but you know… forgiven, forgotten because you just made a mistake."
"I wasn't the only side in this war, you realise?"
"Like it could happen without you, dickhead."
"Enough," Salazar interrupted, clearly vexed. "Considering even those limited factors that I am aware of, the war would have happened even without the mistake. Wars happen, boy. Sometimes, they can be avoided, and we will try to avoid war now. All modern wizards act under misconceptions, which must be fixed. As societies tend to hold to their beliefs, this task will be difficult even if we would act without the opponent, and Albus Dumbledore is an opponent that should be taken seriously. You should take it seriously."
But the stern face and sharp tone didn't impress Harry.
"I am taking it seriously. I'm seriously pissed. He's seriously a jerk. And I seriously think he should be triple-checked before you allow him to do anything. So we wouldn't have another 'oops' situation."
"You wouldn't be so impertinent if Cygnus Black would be the one to raise you," Voldemort declared in an 'I told you so' tone.
"Yeah, I'm still not sorry that you died."
"Yes, we're clear on that. Unfortunately, I can't kill and resurrect you, so you can see what a pleasure that was. You, however, managed to kill me even while I was dead…" Hermione furrowed, as confused as Harry looked, which seemed to please Voldemort, but he continued the previous topic despite Harry's, "What?"
"But I will get to this part in time. We established what Dumbledore says and what he does to answer the question of what his aim is. I had to study his long and mostly dull life in detail. I have all the pieces gathered if anyone would like to study them personally. I assure you that the life of the great Albus Dumbledore is not as exciting as it seems, but he had his moments."
"Dumbledore was born in August 1881, which makes him currently one hundred and thirteen years old. That is the first surprising fact about him."
"Why?" Hermione asked instantly.
"Because, Miss Granger," Voldemort smiled viciously. "Wizards age slower than muggles. The more powerful the wizard, the slower he ages and the longer he lives. The previous headmaster, Armando Dippet, died at three hundred fifty-five. He wasn't considered as powerful as Albus Dumbledore, yet he was far after his second century before he reached the stage of a long, white beard and a collection of wrinkles. This suggests that he either lies about his looks or his power."
"I lived over two centuries and was fit enough to raise my sword to the day of my death," added Godric, "At the time of making my Horcrux, I was reaching my fifties. Would you say I look my age?"
Hermione looked at him in surprise. She thought they were in their early thirties, maybe except for Slytherin, who looked slightly older. Now, she looked at them suspiciously, her eyes finally stopping at Rowena.
"You do not ask a witch her age, Hermione," the woman said with a smile. "But we all enjoyed long lives and our health to old age. Except for Godric, who caught the dragon pox and could raise this sword only with sheer stubbornness on the day of his death."
"Yet, I could," Godric declared proudly.
"The point is, we highly doubt that Dumbledore is as powerful as it is said. Continue, Tommy," asked Helga. Voldemort scowled but didn't comment on the used name.
"Dumbledore's mother was a Muggle-born, and his father belonged to the proud pureblood family that surrounded itself with many tales of their greatness. This is the second interesting fact about Dumbledore: he does not naturally attract phoenixes. Fawkes appeared at my doorstep and offered his ashes for Godric's resurrection. It belongs to him and always did. If Godric were to die a permanent death, it would find his heir. But Godric never died permanently, and the phoenix waited."
"He needs some time to grow up again," Godric said. "Then I can tell why he was with Dumbledore during the last couple of years."
"The first years of Dumbledore's life were rather boring until his sister, Ariana, was attacked by Muggles and became an Obscurus. Dumbledore's father avenged his daughter and got locked in Azkaban, where he died. Dumbledore's mother cared for the girl, but becoming an Obscurus is a permanent and volatile condition. When Dumbledore was eighteen, the girl killed their mother, forcing Albus to take over her duties. It demanded that he remain at home and hide the girl from the world. As soon as the Ministry would learn about her existence, she would be taken care of as a threat, which means killed, according to the Statue of Secrecy."
"The third exciting fact about Dumbledore is that at this point, Dumbledore fell in love with none other but the future Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald. I have copies of their letters upstairs if you want details. What is interesting for us is that they planned the abolition of the Statue of Secrecy and their joint rule over Muggles. Personally, it's my favourite part of Dumbledore's life story. Their relationship broke apart when one of them killed poor Ariana. As far as I know, they had never met in person before their famous duel. But they have been in contact. It just so happened that some of Grindelwald's faithful joined my ranks. They were also those who gathered all the most important Grindelwald's documents, including two letters from Albus Dumbledore, in which Dumbledore tried to convince him to take up a different approach. He argued that it would be better not to rule over muggles but to change the customs and laws of wizards, make us more likeable for muggles, then abolish the Statue of Secrecy and convince muggles about our harmlessness to live in happy coexistence."
"Wouldn't that be good?" Hermione asked. "We wouldn't need to hide. We could do much good for muggles. That would be mutually beneficial."
"And what about creatures?" Salazar inquired. "What about the existence of magic? Do you believe that the muggles would welcome magic, all the magic, with open arms? All of them? Think about it, girl. Wizards never had great numbers, but there are currently much fewer of us than them. When their knowledge about the world was limited, and they couldn't communicate at such speed, we could have been wise members of their society, ones to solve problems. But they are far more advanced. They don't need us anymore. But they will fear us because their science does not explain our existence. They will try to study us. They will try to use us. And they could destroy us as they tried to in the past, only with much more ease. As our culture would lose the customs and rituals needed to replenish magic, we would also lose magic quite quickly, which would make us unable to defend ourselves. Finally, the creatures that are the natural part of our world are being excluded, thrown to the edge of society, and forced to live a rudimentary life. As a consequence of this plan, we would be condemned to the extinction of multiple species, resulting from exile and poor living conditions and sickness in reaction to the lack of magic to sustain their lives. Could you stand for that?"
"No…" Hermione said quietly.
"But that is the direction in which Dumbledore is pushing the wizards worldwide. And that must be stopped."
"B-but how?" asked Neville quietly, "He's Dumbledore. I have always heard that he can do everything."
"Certainly not everything," Voldemort responded instantly, and Hermione had to agree that everything was an exaggeration, but there was no doubt that he was powerful enough to stop them. People sitting around her could be powerful enough to stop him, in theory, but most of them were officially dead. Two had a highly doubtful reputation. And most of them had no significant influence. She supposed that Voldemort could have some influence over some people, but whatever it was, it was thirteen years old. At this point, only Neville's grandmother had any significant sway, and it was not only limited, but most of her contacts were loyal to Dumbledore and would choose him over her. Even if what she just heard was true, even if Dumbledore wasn't as magically powerful as it was told, he certainly held immense political power.
"I will continue with the story," Voldemort said again, "We are closing to the matters more personally involving. Before starting the war, I had a few different ideas. I have visited Hogwarts to ask for a position as the Defence of the Dark Arts teacher. I had a couple of other reasons for visiting Hogwarts, among which only one is important at this point. I needed the Sorting Hat for resurrection. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the one resting in Dumbledore's office was… a fake. When I first came to Hogwarts, I felt the Sorting Hat, the slivers of souls in, the moment I entered the Great Hall. And I could feel it every time during my school years when I was in the office of Headmaster Dippet. But when I returned and entered Dumbledore's office, there was nothing. At first, I feared that the Hat and the souls were destroyed. However, with time and the help of a faithful spy, the original Sorting Hat was found. From her, I have learned that she was used for the last time during the second year of Dumbledore's residency and never after that."
"What?" Harry interrupted. "That was fake? Well, that's a relief."
"You don't want to be in Gryffindor so much?" asked Godric.
"Nah, it just wanted to sort me into Slytherin… um… sorry," he added, looking at Salazar. "There are just some serious assholes in your house, and I expected my friend to go to Gryffindor, so I asked the Sorting Hat… or the substitute, to not sort me to Slytherin, and it placed me in Gryffindor."
All the founders reacted differently. Salazar still looked offended, Godric seemed amused, and Helga seemed somewhat dissatisfied, while Rowena furrowed.
"We suspected the sorting was manipulated, but the true Sorting Hat would never respect the student's wishes. What worries me, however, is that any student would like to avoid any house or choose a different one because of such things as sympathies or antipathies… Each of the Houses used to represent so much that students were honoured to be admitted to any of them. They are still supposed to stand for much more than it seems they do."
"I can tell you they don't stand for much these days," Augusta said, "They were primarily etiquettes since the time of my parents, but still were the reason for pride. Today, Slytherin means untrustworthy, dark wizard. Gryffindor stands for recklessness and is treated as the badge of honour, marking one as a light wizard. Ravenclaw gives the stamp of cleverness, but I meet more and more Ravenclaws who are plain idiots. And Hufflepuff, I'm sorry to say, but it's considered to gather all the rest. And Hufflepuffs aren't well respected."
As all founders looked offended, so – to placate the situation - Hermione quickly added, "It's not that bad… I mean, there is something more to… all the houses. And I'm certain that with your return, everything will change for the better."
It didn't seem that she convinced anybody, but Helga smiled at her and said, "Thank you, dear. That's very nice." Then she looked at others. "What would you say for dinner? We have been here for quite a long time already."
The break was well welcomed. Hermione expected that they would move to the dining room, that it would be elegant and fancy. Instead, they moved to the kitchen. Salazar and Helga quickly took the lead, distributing tasks and using pre-prepared ingredients. Hermione observed the spellwork with interest, more concerned with remembering as much as she could than with the conversations around her. But she caught on the return of the immortal Quidditch, Augusta speaking about Wizengamot, the loud talk about the swords, and at some point, Godric left for a while to return with a phoenix hatchling with barely any sprouting feathers. It didn't look very impressive.
They ate at the kitchen table some weird mixture of medieval and modern foods, including roasted rabbits and pheasants, as well as Caesar salad and toffee pudding. In all honesty, it was the weirdest dinner… No, the weirdest evening in Hermione's life. It was nothing like she expected. And everything she expected. Excluding the matters of murdering, murderers, and all the Dark Arts treated here as the subject akin to… bread, which in itself was plenty, there was this unexpectedly friendly dinner when she saw Voldemort chopping carrots, and apparently everybody except her was able to accept it just because. Harry learned so much, and yet he talked about something called Transylvanian Tackle and why it's legal in Quidditch. Neville… she would be frantic after the conversation regarding his parent's fate. But Neville? No, nothing like that. He cared much more about what kind of trees grew in the Forbidden, oh sorry, Druidhean Forest. Was she the only normal person around? But that wasn't all that unsettled Hermione.
First and foremost, Hermione expected some manipulation aimed at making all of them willingly join some evil scheme cooked up by Voldemort. She turned on all of her analytical abilities, prepared to think over everything she heard and look for hidden traps in every word. And she did. The problem was that everything she heard made sense, and Voldemort wasn't the one (or the only one) behind the scheme that – in all honesty – didn't sound as evil as she expected. The problem was that she was invited to join this. She was expected to join. And she… well… wanted to. Sort of. It seemed reasonable.
Before Hermione managed to organise all the facts and thoughts, they were back in the living room, everybody in their previous seats. And Voldemort returned to the story.
"During the war, Dumbledore aimed to win by organising his people officially and unofficially; he created an organisation known as the Order of the Phoenix, unofficially headed the Ministry… at least until I took over. When I was about to win, two things happened. First, three heirs were about to be born. That redirected my interest from the war to you. Not enough to lose, but enough to make me distracted. Second, I was presented with the beginning of the prophecy that could have referred to me as the Dark Lord… or to one of three others that could be found around the word at the time, although they were rather insignificant in comparison. If it referred to me, it also referred to Mr Longbottom or Potter, the child born at the end of July to the parents that thrice defied the Dark Lord in question, will be the one to vanquish him. The prophecy is longer, but I have never heard the rest of it."
"It is known that the Ministry of Magic has been collecting prophecies since the beginning of the seventeenth century. Everyone who gave or witnessed a spoken prophecy can send their memory to the Department of Mysteries. However, one of my Death Eaters supplied information about prophecies usually known only to the Unspeakables. This means that all three of you should mind your tongues, as I tell you this, only because it supposedly will help you understand the situation better. Powerful artefacts independently record all prophecies that are spoken in England and carry a powerful magical potential. They are considered to have a higher value than memories provided by individuals, as they come true more often and constitute only a small percentage of all collected predictions."
"I generally do not hold prophecies in high regard. This one I considered exceedingly doubtful, as my Death Eater informed me that it was recorded in the Ministry only as Dumbledore's memory. It would be foolish to ignore the existence of this prophecy but no less to attach too much importance to it. However, as I told you before dinner, I killed Lily and James Potter, after which I was killed—the same day Harry Potter was announced as the Boy Who Lived who survived my killing curse, causing my defeat. Not death, but defeat. That person must have known that my death will not be permanent. I concluded that Dumbledore heard the prophecy, created the situation that reflects what was prophesied to everybody who wasn't there, created the Boy Who Lived, and placed him with the worst possible guardians. In my opinion, the rest of the prophecy states that the prophesied saviour will get rid of me permanently, and so, Dumbledore created himself a hero. The examination of the famous scar would probably serve as proof of my theory."
"Additional proof. I have already gained one confirmation when Wormtail told me what occurred during the first year of magical education of the Boy Who Lived. By sheer circumstance, of course, it was the year that the famous Philosopher's Stone was held in Hogwarts for safety. There was also Lord Voldemort in the most inhumane shape possible, stuck to the back of the head of someone called Quirinus Quirrel. Said Lord Voldemort attempted to steal the Stone but was heroically stopped by the Boy Who Lived and a pair of other eleven-year-olds. Despite putting their lives in danger, they forced the Dark Lord to flee and caused the death of his servant. The problem is, children, that I was never there. I never left Albania before Wormtail found me there this June. I don't know what you have seen, who you have met, and who you have killed, but you were lied to."
"Wait, what?" Harry asked, looking confused, "First, I saw you, and second, we haven't killed anybody."
"What have you seen exactly?" Voldemort asked.
"Well, your face on the back of Quirrel's head. You looked exactly as you look now. It was just creepier because of, you know… the second face upfront. You told me about my parents, almost the same things as you did now, and offered to bring them back if I join you."
"What?" Hermione looked at him with utter surprise. "You've never told us that."
Harry shrugged.
"I refused. What's there to talk about."
"You refused then, and you're here now?" Voldemort asked before Hermione voiced her objection to Harry's ridiculous conclusion. Of course, it was something to talk about!
"I haven't come here for you but for Helga. There's a difference. I'm not here to join you. You just happened to be on the same side. And not because of me, but because of Salazar. And she made an oath that you don't want to kill me and never wanted to, and I never wanted to go after you in the first place, so, as far as I'm concerned, I have to stand your presence, and that's it."
"I was under the impression that you already went after me twice."
"It wasn't because I wanted to. I went to protect the Philosopher's Stone, and I did it because no one would listen when we told them that Snape was after the Stone. Of course, it wasn't Snape, but Quirrel, but we didn't know that yet. During my second year, I had no idea it was you before I was in the Chamber of Secrets, and you told me that. So no, I never got a brilliant idea going something like, hey, I'm eleven, and I'll go for the most powerful dark wizard there is. I'm not an idiot."
Salazar suddenly started hissing, causing Hermione to frown. She recognised that it was Parseltongue quite quickly. It sounded similar to the sounds that Harry made during the Dueling Club in their second year. And Harry responded. First in the same manner, then in English.
"But I don't understand," he said, "Dumbledore said that I can speak Parseltongue because Voldemort transferred some of his powers to me when he tried to kill me. Since we established that you never tried, how can I speak Parseltongue?"
"It's a rare ability, but it doesn't belong to my family exclusively," Salazar responded, "I assume that either one of your ancestors was a Parselmouth or, less likely, you are the first one in your line… However, many of my descendants didn't carry the heirship. They also married and had children. Some travelled abroad. Maybe we are somehow related through one of the side branches. If you want to know for certain, you must carefully trace your family tree in search of other Parselmouths. Of course, both are magical and Muggle, as they may come from the Squib line, and it mustn't be the one that connects you with Helga… or maybe it is this one."
"Or could I just accept the fact and not bother with all this, as it might be useless anyway?" Harry asked.
"Aren't you curious?" Rowena was surprised. "You could be related to some other great wizard, and such an ancestor may bring something more than only the ability to speak Parseltongue."
"Maybe you could even find Herpo…" mused Salazar. "I'm curious whether he still lives or could be resurrected…"
"And here we go again," Godric rolled his eyes, "Herpo the Wonderful. Let's get back on topic, Sal. You can daydream about your god some other time."
Hermione furrowed. The words rang somewhat familiar, and as Godric and Salazar got into a short discussion, she searched her mind to…
"You cannot talk about Herpo the Foul!" she exclaimed, causing Godric to laugh.
"Hush, girl, or Sal will curse you. We don't use this particular moniker. But yes, it's the same wizard."
"An innovator," declared Slytherin, "I have never met another person of such a brilliant, open mind. It would be beneficial to have him around. In fact, boy, I will help you search through your ancestors."
"You mean you will search for Herpo," muttered Godric, but Helga spoke louder, "We're getting off the main topic. Are we done with the matter of prophecy?"
"Yes, we need more information on that matter, starting with examining Harry's scar," said Rowena, "But that's not urgent. We were on the matter of their first year."
"In my opinion, Dumbledore orchestrated the whole thing for the Boy Who Lived and as part of his future ploy," said Godric. And Hermione swallowed. Because that was her thought as well, and not only now. She thought about it years before, when they discussed the matter right after the events with the Stone. She and Ron thought that Dumbledore had planned it all. Harry argued that Dumbledore gave him a chance to try to face Voldemort…
"There was a lot that supports this," Hermione said now, "The whole year, we followed the breadcrumb trail to find the Stone. I just don't know how he did it, because Quirrell was really convincing. It's a shame we can't ask Quirrell what happened and was he convinced that he works for… for you."
Saying the name was a little too much, to be honest.
"Yeah, and besides, why did my scar hurt every time Quirrell was in the same room as me, and why couldn't he touch me? He burned. His hands, face…"
"Awful way to die," Rowena shivered, "But yes, that is an excellent question. I hope we will get to the crook of the matter during the examination. Whatever it is, it must be powerful. Does it hurt you now?"
Harry shook his head.
"No, not at all."
"And during your second year?" Rowena enquired. "Had it been hurting when you were in contact with the Horkruks?" Seeing the disorientation on Harry's face, she added, "The diary."
"No, nothing. But it was only a memory. How would my scar interact with it?"
"It wasn't a memory, you ignorant," Voldemort snapped. "It was a slither of my soul locked in the diary. A piece of myself that you killed that night."
Hermione furrowed, seeing how pale Harry got during this conversation. But he just said again, "No, nothing. It never hurt. Not in the chamber, and never when I wrote in it."
"Do you think Dumbledore planned it as well?" Hermione asked.
"No, impossible. The Horcrux was under the protection of Lucius Malfoy. But I never told him what it was. He either talked with it or just wanted to get rid of the item that could result in problems with the Ministry. I haven't spoken with him yet. What have it told you?" Voldemort looked at Harry sharply.
"About Hagrid, mostly. Otherwise, we haven't talked much. Ginny stole it back quite quickly. And in the Chamber, it just… mostly bragged and asked how I survived your attack. How it's possible that the great Lord Voldemort tried to kill me, and I survived. Then, it ordered the basilisk to kill me. So there's that for you not wanting to kill me," he added snidely.
"It's a sliver of soul. It remembers only what happened before separation and is unaware when it's not in contact with another soul. The only knowledge it had about my future actions is what it was told by you, this Ginny, or possibly Lucius. It was not I who tried to kill you, and if it would possess my knowledge, it wouldn't have tried."
"Well, if it wouldn't have tried, I wouldn't destroy it," Harry said defensively. "So it wasn't my fault. And I don't even know if I killed Quirrel that night. I mean, he died, but maybe it wasn't because of me at all."
"You did," Voldemort confirmed. He sounded a little disoriented, and for a second, Hermione didn't understand as well. But then Harry added, "I didn't mean to!" and suddenly Hermione realised something they never thought about.
"I had no idea it would kill him! Or that it was your soul. It told me it's a memory! How could I know?!"
"Nobody blames you, darling. You had every right to kill in both situations, and sometimes it's the only available solution," Helga said gently, "But the first time is always hard."
Harry said nothing, and Hermione sighed heavily. She understood that Harry felt guilty. She also fully agreed with Helga, that it wasn't his fault. And, honestly, she saw nothing that he could do differently in both cases. She was just about to say something, but Augusta was first.
"I believe that it's enough for tonight," she declared. "We should meet again in a couple of days. Give children time to process."
Hermione wanted to protest. The idea of waiting for answers to the rest of her questions didn't really suit her. But again – she wasn't given a chance. And before she noticed, she and her questions were led back to the fireplace and the Badgers Keep.