Black. Black was the colour of September. Let alone the uniforms, everyone else wore black as well. Black bows in some girls’ hair – and black rings under many eyes. Black drapes decorated the hall, but silver and golden stars were glittering from them, glistening in the light of the fire bowls along the walls and the floating candles. The only real exception were a sallow skinned, fair haired young man who was dressed in an elegant white robe with silver embroidered seams and silver buttons as well as white trousers and shoes, over which he wore a long white cloak, obviously at last influenced by a girl at the Ravenclaw table whose equally coloured hair was topped by a sparkling, colour changing woollen hat that earned her loathing looks, which she proudly ignored with her usual warm but absent appearing smile.
Professor Sprout had been utterly excited and nearly tripped over her own feet when having led the first-years up to the podium. And though, next to his usual description of the houses, and words of not judging like he had spoken at the last Start-of-Term Feast, added with notes of lighter times lying ahead, the Sorting Hat hadn’t managed to lift the mood in the Great Hall. The courses had gone by, much returned to the kitchen untouched. In petto, Hermione hoped it would reach anyone in need, rather than what had happened at Lucius Malfoy’s funeral.
A Phoenix feather stuck in the brim of her sharp black hat and her green eyes sunken in behind her spectacles, Professor McGonagall had raised another time from the throne-like chair in the middle of the staff table, for a repeated welcome and announcement of the formalities. Septima Vector had now become Head of Gryffindor, following McGonagall in the line of strict, consequent Heads, Hestia Jones had agreed to teach Muggle Studies and a certain Herbert Cluttertoil, a thin-faced ginger in approximate fifties, was appointed to replace Bathsheda Babbling who had been killed in the battle. Last, after a drab, embarrassing silence, Draco had received the faintest applause, but it had been shattered by the cheers of a small number of students, which he had shrugged off with a pitiful chuckle. Now that this was done, some heavy load could downright be felt falling from the new Headmistress’s heart and she swallowed heavily so it would stay where it landed.
“More than forty years.”, Minerva McGonagall aspirated, her eyes not really on any of the students on the long, crammed tables before her. “For more than forty years have I been listening to the words said between these walls – I have been Deputy Headmistress for nearly half the time – I rebuilt this school with my friends – and alongside, all summer, I have been working on what I could say to you all when you should arrive – back – or newly – I wrote speech after speech – and ended up with a dustbin of – ashes – I – I burnt them all. I just had no idea what to tell you – nothing fitted – not being worth said – or being too much – I just – couldn’t – couldn’t find words for all those stars that fell from the sky over the past years, and throughout the battle these grounds have seen.”
Half of the people in the hall couldn’t look at her anymore at that point and she paused, wiping her hand over her thin-lipped mouth, the mournful, watery eyes still seeking for something they could look at properly. When they didn’t manage to either, she decided to continue after a deep breath.
“Many of you have seen the statue that has been built outside, in the centre of our front courtyard. It bears the names of all those who fell victim to this never loved boy called Tom Riddle and his desperate attempt to be heard, ever since he started it.”, Myrtle, floating in a door-side corner, gave a sigh and McGonagall carried on, with more determination, but also more tears, dangerously close to fall. “Some of the names don’t show a date of decease, but we all know when they have left us. I – didn’t want to only give them a last honour – I wanted to give it to all those families that have been torn – because, at root, we are all daughters and sons of someone and it does not do justice to those we lost when we only mention the stars that have crashed onto these grounds in the night and morning to May second, and some might not agree with me, but I also wished those to be named that we fought against. Because these families have lost sons and daughters as well, to whatever reason that may have driven them. And furthermore we should not just remember them by walking past their names. We should remember them every day.”
Like many others, Draco had leant his head onto his hand and his face was glistening with silent new tears, coming with each second passing, from most people’s eyes. Some simply had lost the ability to cry any more over the past weeks or longer.
“And we, those left behind, it is our duty, I believe, to pick up these stars and send them back into the sky for shining their light on us from above. For being a guarding light, for being our real monument, a memorial that life is nothing to be thrown around as if it were rolls of parchment that contained nothing but useless words.”, with a last pause, she lowered her head. “Let us honour these stars in a minute of silence.”
~~#~~
It was her, that much he could tell. All was bathed in silence, but her voice echoed over it, though soft and gentle like the morning greet of a blackbird, shortly before the sun climbed over the horizon, breaking the silence in a mellow way. It would take hours for that moment to come; in his heart however, the bird had started for the sun to sing. Just slowly, he approached the open doors under his cloak, as slowly as other people joined in her song. He knew it, vaguely. At some point in his childhood he had heard it on the TV, sung by a gospel choir, shortly before Dudley had changed the channel. Such a brief, minuscule moment, and still it was there, burnt into his mind and now it was back again, although he had not even known it was there, somewhere.
Beautiful, somehow, but creepy enough to give him chills. Even more, the awareness that it was those with Muggle descent to sing. They sung for those fallen in wizards’ wars. We are all human, carrying the gene or not. Even in times like the current; or especially in such; we have to stick together and care for one another, no matter where we come from. She had been right, then already. And although he knew that the chances stood low for any of those students knowing about the interview, there was the realisation that again it had been his mother to bring people together, in the end. A, in spite of all the holes blasted into people’s hearts, sort of happy end. And the song was just about that – it meant to make people happy, to bring peace, salvation – telling not to mourn, but live on with the memories of what had been good.. no place for burying memories..memories aren’t meant to be buried.. Memories shouldn’t be buried. They couldn’t be buried. They would always be there in some way.
The words and the song in his head, he went down the spiral staircase, slowly, but steady. Every step, a memory. Every memory – just months ago he would have given everything to erase those, but now – he clung to them as if his life depended on every flicker. He didn’t startle when the torches lit up, blue, cold, dead, but – never having been more warming. Endless the corridor laid there. Only seconds later, it seemed to him, he arrived at the dark door. How many times had he stood there, with disgust, with hatred, unwilling to enter, feeling forced into a cage of sharp thorns – how many times had he not opened his eyes – his fingers closed around the old handle, pushed it down.
Silence. No sound from the hall above anymore, no sound from the door when it opened for him. Darkness inside. He stepped in, shut out the torchlight. A spark in the fireplace, catching his attention. The flames had come on the mere split-second wish. So did the smaller ones on the candles, up on the chandelier. Nothing. Emptiness. Empty shelves, two empty chairs by two empty tables. Swallowing, he pulled off the cloak and stuffed it into his Mokeskin Pouch as he walked over to the big desk, with more memories flashing up, the closer he went to the single fake book in that one shelf. Not even noticing it, his hand suddenly laid on it, tilting it, which made the secret door open. As though greeting him, the chandelier in the hidden room lit up like its twin in the main office, presenting him with the same emptiness.
Where had he taken the piano? Where were all those things? Had they – simply left with him? All over summer he had wondered, and not found an answer. Maybe it was something simple, something he had – failed – to – see – like so many things – chocolate? Harry blinked. The bar hadn’t laid there after the battle. Someone had definitely placed it on that chest of drawers, still wrapped. In long seconds of confusion, he snuck up to it and carefully picked the piece of parchment it laid on. It still troubled him that he hadn’t recognised the similarity of the writing in the Potions book to that on the blackboard or corrected homework and tests.
If you find this, I am far away
Harry unfolded it and read on.
But no matter how far, you will get to see with time, how close I still am. And regardless of where my mortal shell may be, I will not rest; for your sake, and everyone’s; until every of those cowardly beasts has knelt before the headman, confessing truthful loyalty or deepest remorse, and received adequate sentence for either.
Should I not wander as a living among the warm anymore, I swear to you, should it be your wish, I will go on this path from the grave and I shall haunt the sinners in ways possible, drive them into justice’s claws at the eternal flowing river, serrating their bridge from below. One word from you shall be enough.
Meanwhile, and in case the biscuits haven’t reached you,
Happy New Life, dear Harry James.
Yours, “Blackbeard”
Crashing onto the blank space below, a single tear fell. It had been to make him believe what he had been meant to believe at that moment, that much he knew now. The only reason why he had torn the photo. The only reason why he had torn so much else. For a gr- he didn’t even want to consciously think the phrase to the end. And the word had been spoken months ago, in the Headmaster Study; as it seemed, effectively. The deaths we truthfully hope for in blind loathing, will haunt us for a lifetime. He wasn’t so sure if those would in the specific case, but it would at least grant him a safe job for a long while. However, like the song had stated, there was a little light that shone on: he wouldn’t be the one to do it. Neither. They might have initiated it eventually, set the ball running, but it would be another to push it on, to carry out the deed. The only decision to be made was to decide which was the greater sin: leaning back and doing nothing, or intervening.
His shoes still on, Harry turned on the spot, sank down and fell flat on his back, onto the soft, white bedding. Gliding from his shaking fingers, a bar of wrapped chocolate and a number of words.
~~#~~
Full to the brim. None of them had ever seen so many benches and desks in that classroom. Almost all who were still alive, had returned to redo their final year, or at least prepare for the additional course of N.E.W.T. exams that would take place before Christmas for those who wished to take them. In the front row, blocking one of the corridors, a desk had been extended over the length of its bench. Behind that space, Padma sat in her wheelchair, next to her twin and Fay. Hermione and Ginevra shared the one at their right, and further right, sat Luna and Hannah, then Neville; who hadn’t been at the welcoming feast; and Ernie, Seamus and Dean. All of them were chatting, but subdued, waiting for their very first lesson to start. Then, the door to the classroom opened and everyone went silent.
A big grin laid on Luna’s face when Neville started blinking heavily at their new teacher who passed the narrow rows. At first he had thought Draco would sit down among them, but when he had realised that there was no possible seat left, it dawned on him, why he didn’t wear a school uniform.
“And now don’t tell me, you all knew that.”, Neville aspirated.
“If you’d been here yesterday, you’d know as well.”, sighed Draco when he turned around, adjusted his black robe and leant against the teacher’s desk.
“They called me to – ”
“I know. Luna said that. How are they?”
“Better.”, Neville huffed. “So? We’ll have to call you Professor Malfoy now?”
“I think – ”, Draco took a deep breath, pondering, “I’d make an exception for this class.”
His eyes travelled over all those familiar faces, becoming sadder with every second passing. In different times, a statement like this might have created the one or other chuckle and even laugh, though those times laid far in the past, and probably again, the future. Some of them were still staring back, but slowly one after another didn’t want to have to look at him anymore. For some more moments he struggled for words, then he decided to start with a number of ridiculous facts to bridge the embarrassing silence.
“Okay – er – I actually wanted to begin with fist-years, just going according to curriculum, but Minerva insisted I’d start with people I know. It’s going to be a bit difficult since half of you already have a feeling of what’s asked in the NEWTs, even though Amycus did it – er – slightly different, and the rest doesn’t. I had a look at the real curriculum and it’s basically just revising what’s been taught in years one to six, plus theoretical stuff about the Unforgivable Curses, multiple Shield Charms and duplicating effects in general as well as improving non-verbal magic. Summer term deals with Patronuses; which I was told to be a recent change; and other difficult defensive magic, but most of you can conjure them already anyway and know the other spells. I’d say, we improve that then and do revision until the exams. For the swots among you, there’s an additional point on wandless disarming, but we’ll talk about that when we’re there.”
“Wandless disarming only?”, Hermione moaned, and did indeed get herself some giggles.
“If you want to learn how to turn wine into blueberry juice without notice, you’d be better off with Flitwick.”, Draco replied cold, making her face turn to the colour of said drinks. “Good. I was asked to take down names of who wants to do the exams at Christmas already. Anyone in for that?”
There was only a small number of hands in the air, including Neville’s. Everyone watched him walking around the desk, taking a roll of parchment from one of the desk’s drawers and ink a quill. He scanned the rows and wrote their names down, nodding approvingly when he was done.
“One thing – has – has anyone seen Harry? I mean, sure, he might be working, but I’d just like to know whether he hasn’t changed his mind.”
“You know he’s said he won’t be sitting here?”, Ginevra noted.
“Yeah. Still.”
“And that he’s said he’s gonna take them in September?”
“Yes, but they’ll be – ”
“No, Kingsley has used all his influence again.”, pouted Hermione. “He’s getting his own special course of exams.”
“Oh. Right. Okay then – ”
“Why?”, asked someone from the back row.
“Because he’s always getting special treatment, you halfwit.”, murmured Ginevra, her head turned. “He’s asked for it because he doesn’t want to appear like he’s treated with kid gloves and because he doesn’t want any of us get distracted during our exams, simply by his presence, okay?”, a mutual snort, and her eyes were back on Draco, who continued.
“Alright. Well. I’d say, it wouldn’t hurt any of you, if we’d went through the theory together now and do the training later. We’ll have to move to a bigger room anyway. Since it’s a double period, I think we should spend three quarters of the first on theory, then move downstairs and practise for the rest of the time. Who disagrees? No one? Great. Well then, er – forget about those books.”, he was surprised how fast they went into the bags. “They’re just useful if it’s too late for asking me. If you got a question, ask it right away. And if you run into me in the corridors, I don’t care. I’m here to assist you.”, he couldn’t help sharing the quiet snicker that went through the rows. “Yes, I am. Now, any questions already?”
It took a quiet while. People just exchanged unsure looks, some tried to encourage their neighbours. Eventually, Leanne’s hand went up, if though very hesitantly.
“Yes?”
“You’re – ”, she gargled and swallowed, “You’re not going to show us the Unforgivable Curses, are you?”
“No.”, Draco lightly shook his head. “We’ve had plenty enough of that last year.”, relieved groans travelled around the room for some seconds. “What I’m gonna do is telling you the basics about how they work and how you can shield yourself to your best and you’ll learn to resist the Imperius Curse, but just if you believe you’re ready for that. I won’t torture any of you, don’t worry. Yes, Michael?”
“And the Killing Curse?”
“Yeah. That one.”, he chuckled into space. “It’s hard to deflect it, but it’s possible. You’ll best train that against a powerful stunner. But we’ll get to that. Daphne?”
“Pansy told me that you were good at Occlumency and even Legilimency.”
“Then she told you some truth.”, it was unmistakable that hearing her talk about his absent ex-girlfriend displeased him and his formerly rather insecure tone became strict and cold. “But I’m not gonna teach any of you in that matter. It’s not on the curriculum and I won’t give extra lessons on that. Definitely not. I know what you’re heading after and I told your sister already when she asked me about it. That’s my last word on it: no. Anyone else wishing to learn more than highly advanced magic? Good.”
~~#~~
“Good morning,”
“Morning.”, he mumbled back, not seeing who had joined him in the lift.
Even though he wore his glasses, he had a hard time trying to see anything at all. His eyes were swollen, not only because he constantly rubbed them. If he hadn’t held himself to one of the handholds, he would have fallen over latest at the fourth floor. He had been in those lifts quite a number of times already, but that one was exceptionally loud today. Like an army of knights in full armour, it clattered around his ears and he felt as if he was standing on a drunken horse that tried to jump a course. Not enough, he missed the second floor. Before his feet reached the grills, they shut and the lift sped down to the seventh floor.
Unnerved, he leant back against the cabin wall and continued robbing his eyes, yawning. Approximately an hour of sleep, if not less. He was lucky he had found the way out of the castle without tripping over his cloak, even though he had washed his face about five times. The flight down to Hogsmeade hadn’t been better and still surprised how he had managed to Apparat, he limply greeted more people that entered.
“Went on the razzle, Potter?”, a man laughed, so loud it hurt his ears, but he just brandished him off and finally stepped out into the right corridor.
Someone nearly knocked him over. Staggering, both muttered a barely comprehensible apology and he slouched on, not caring who had run into him. Completely hormic he teetered to the office doors and pressed down the handle of one. As far as he could see, each of the cubicles was empty. So he went for the office of his boss, guessing the reason. The door swung open and a high pitched squeal – almost woke him.
“Sorry, din’ mean to distuuurb.“, he yawned again, turned and slammed the door shut as fierce as he could.
Incredible, he thought, and took the door further to its right, which fortunately was the one he had meant to enter. That much he knew when his best friend’s angelic roar thundered at him.
“Bloody hell, mate! What happened to you? Where’ve you been? We already wanted to send a squad – ”
“Did I miss something?”
“Only half of the roster – Harry?”, he had let himself sink into a chair near the grand desk and rubbed his head, which didn’t have much impact on the appearance of his hair, only that it stood in slightly different directions.
“Damn it – ”, he groaned to the tiled ceiling.
“Is everything all right with you, Mr Potter?”, his boss asked; Harry only recognised him by his voice, but didn’t really see anyone who was in the office.
“I’m totally –“, Harry yawned another time, now into his hand, “Fine, Mr Robards.”
“And now tell me why you fail to convince me. You look absolutely dreadful! Shall I send for a Healer?”
“I said, I’m fine. Only had no sleep,”, the ceiling soothingly vanished when he closed his eyes. “That’s all.”
“And why would that be?”
“Yeah! What the heck did you do!”, Ron had moved closer.
“Listen, if you don’t want to tell your colleagues, I have no problem with it. But I am your superior and I have to know why one of my Aurors is incapable of working. When they resume their work, you will stay here and explicitly tell me what kept you from sleeping, Mr Potter. Just because you saved our world, you shouldn’t think you may utilise the most incredible rights.”
“I didn’t go on the razzle, as someone meant so politely in the lift.”, Harry growled angrily. “I spent the entire night with working.”
“And on what?”
“The three Magi.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said,”
“I understood you clearly, Mr Potter. But if this was supposed to be a joke, it was not funny. Not in the slightest.”
“It wasn’t.”
“And what do those `Three Wise Men´ have to do with any case we are currently working on, in your opinion?”, in his opinion, Robards had just sounded like Hermione.
“No idea. And I’m not sure whether they’re men at all. Maybe they are, maybe not. They looked more like women to me, to be honest. But they’re somehow connected to the Peverells. Put flowers on an old grave with that sign on.”
“You should honestly try to get to your senses, Mr Potter. If you listened to yourself – ”
“Oh, my sense are alright,”, Harry sighed and sat up, finally able to see more than just light and dark.
“He’s had a strange meeting on his birthday,”, meant Ron.
“And what does your birthday party have to do with your job?”
“Well, we’re dealing with the Peverells, aren’t we?”
“Not that I know,”
“Er – we are, Mr Robards.”, Ron confirmed for him. “They quite likely created the Deathly Hallows.”
“This is a mere legend that developed from a children’s story and – ”
“It’s not.”, the friends said at once, confusing all present even more.
“And since that Avenger paints their sign on doors, we’re dealing with the Peverells.”
“Their sign, Mr Weasley? That is Gellert Grindelwald’s – ”
“He abused it.”, Harry huffed, presenting his boss with a languid stare that didn’t only hark back to his lack of sleep anymore. “It’s the sign of the Hallows.”
“Yeah. Look.”, Ron fetched a paper and a quill, drew it and turned it around for Robards to see it. “Cloak, wand, stone.”, he pointed on the specific elements, visibly astonishing him.
“And where have you two gotten that information from?”
“Albus Dumbledore.”, it shot from Harry, but Ron opened his mouth for an attempt of correction. “He gave Hermione that book.”, Harry sang in a somewhat warning tone, hoping it wouldn’t drift through too much. “That lead us to the truth, eventually. We got the information from Dumbledore, Ron.”, relieved to the bone he saw Ron understanding why he didn’t want to bring Xenophilius Lovegood into the matter.
“Oh – yes – Dumbledore. Yeah. Sorry. Slipped me for a moment. There’s been so much in between,”
“I still don’t understand – ”, Robards looked from one to the other. “Yes, he has beaten Grindelwald, but how do they connect to this story and – ”
“Grindelwald has been hunting the Hallows for nearly half of his life. That is common news.”
“If this is common news, Miss Massad, it has not reached me.”
“It has now.”, Harry noted, causing him to blink.
“And? Had he found them?”, Robards murmured unimpressed.
“Quite likely one of them.”, said Harry. “At least he knew where it had gone to after his incarceration.”
“And w-”
“But that’s not really the point here.”, he added poignantly when he noticed an alarming glistening in Robards’ eyes. “They exist and that’s that. I won’t tell anyone more and torturing the information out of me would just make more people get hurt on the pointless journey to find them. And the point’s rather that Grindelwald was so driven by his wish to gain power that he didn’t see their true meaning. The actual reason behind. And that’s the wobbly flaw in our inquiry. You’re making us focus on Grindelwald, while we should focus on the Hallows. Those Avengers want to tell us something.”
“Those?”
“I think there are three.”
“Hang on – why didn’t you say that earlier?”
“I actually said it quite a number of times, Ron. I don’t think one alone does all that work. Track them down – secure their houses – overpower them – the obvious interrogation – the torture – that’s not one single person. Three seems just right, doesn’t it? One for the torture, one for the watch and one giving orders. Three Avengers. Three Hallows. They’re trapping their victim, no chance for escape. That’s the power, that’s the Elder Wand. It eventually leads to death. They’re quicker and cleverer than us. Disappear before we catch them. They’re gone without any hint that might lead to them. They strike out of nowhere, and leave into nowhere. The Cloak of Invisibility.”, Harry also pointed on the sign while explaining.
“And the Resurrection Stone?”, Robards blinked several times again.
“Exactly. I’m not entirely sure about that, but they know whom to look for. That means, it’s at least one former Death Eater.”
“We are aware of that much.”
“Sure. But they’re outlaws. Defected Death Eaters had no chance for survival while Voldemort was still alive. He would get them eventually. They are dead, literally. They `returned from the dead´. They are ghosts for us. They’re there, but not. Throughout time, the Hallows always appeared when something grand, but brutal and eventually lethal happened. Emeric the Evil had the Elder Wand, so of course his defeater Egbert, and Barnabas Deverill is said to have used it in the eighteenth century Goblin Rebellion.
“In banned literature.”
“Well, guess why.”, Harry meant casually. “I can give you proof of at least four more owners of the wand, believe me. He had it. They appeared last when Grindelwald was defeated, and now around Voldemort’s fall. So did the Resurrection Stone, and it passed on, as I believe, not only once through taking innocent lives. And the Cloak, ever since it was created, the rightful owner played a sacrificing part in wizarding history, known by the community or not. Whenever someone had a lesson about life and death to learn, they participated in the act, so to say. That’s the hint, that’s the warning. A life-for-life-game.”
“That – might – probably – make – sense – ”, Robards brushed his moustache in thoughts.
“But why have they killed tonight?”, another man wondered.
“Tonight?”, Harry turned around.
“Yes. It has been all over the Daily Prophet already.”, Massad said, straightening her flowery headscarf. “You have not been the only one with a busy night. Four murders.”
“Four?”, Harry murmured, looking back at his boss.
“Four, Mr Potter.”
“Four – ”, he aspirated. “Four – Hogwarts – ”
“Hogwarts?”
“One for each House. Term’s started today. They took vengeance for Hogwarts. Was just a matter of time, if I think about it and if you say there were four tonight, it totally makes sense.”
“You’re creepy, Harry,”, Ron chuckled. “Just like you ate up Hermione’s brains. Each of them has been in a different House.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”, said Robards. “Former Ministry employees again. Therefore we know. It still surprises me that they ended up in his rows. He had his fingers further in than I believed. But if you claim these murders were for Hogwarts – what were the others for?”
“I’ve – made a list – ”, Harry reached under his clothes for his Mokeskin Pouch and pulled a folder. “Of them all tonight.”, he handed it over to his boss; instantly his colleagues gathered closely around the desk, eager to get the best look on it. “It’s all important events. Important for the Order of the Phoenix, and for Dumbledore’s Army.”
“I can see and understand some, but – birthdays?”, he looked straight into Harry’s confident eyes.
“Birthdays. A bit macabre, I know, but what’s not macabre about the case?”, Harry received some approving nods. “I checked everything with Hermione’s birthday calendar. She’s taken down all birthdays of DA and Order members. Of everyone who’s ever been a member. And there are two deaths for people who got killed – generally the victims were closely involved in the respective murder.”
“Excellent work, Mr Potter!”, Robards aspirated, his look travelling between him and the sheets in the folder he lifted randomly. “Absolutely fabulous!”
“We need to gag the Prophet.”, said Harry.
“Pardon?”
“Four murders in a night – that’s great. I mean, it sounds like a grand ending. It’s the highest number so far. I don’t think they’re done yet; by far not; just with the innermost circle or so, but if we want to catch them, no one’s supposed to know that they’re still active. If the Prophet keeps reporting, sooner or later all former Death Eaters will leave the country. Some have been found in totally deserted places. They sought shelter. If anyone gets to know that no place in Britain is safe, they’ll all be gone abroad. The Avengers will follow them, I’m sure, but we’ll lose charge. If they’re going international, we won’t get them. We have to keep them in Britain, but that only works if tonight’s murders look like they’ve been the last. They know how to hide. We have to shield them in order to get them. If they don’t want to cooperate with us, we cooperate with them.”
Silence fell over the room. Still trying hard to stay awake, Harry found the best way was to stare straight into the eyes of the man before him. Mainly though because he wanted to give his best to be taken seriously and because he wanted to make sure Robards’ valued law and order enough so as to not becoming another one to fall victing to a personal hunt for the Hallows.
“Very well. Mr Cannaham, that would be your job then. And if you have to confund each and every single employee of the Daily Prophet that there has been a message from them.”
“Alright, Mr Robards. I’ll take care of that.”, the slim man in an oversized dark brown robe replied.
“Mr Potter – would you – would you say, by this list – you could predict – ”
“Quite certainly. I could at least predict the date. The next will be on the nineteenth.”
“September?”
“Yes. That’s Hermione’s birthday. There’s nothing in between. No death, no other birthday. Perfect for the Prophet for spreading more than one story of their final blow.”
“Good. Mr Cannaham, you should run for it.”
“Okay.”, and Cannaham indeed sped towards the door.
“We need to take an eye on Dolohov.”
“Antonin Dolohov, Mr Potter?”
“Exactly that one.”
“He is awaiting trial in a Ministry cell – ”
“Yes. But he’s likely to be the next. I got a feeling. He’s hit Hermione with a curse that gave her a scar all over the chest which she will carry forever. Their revenge is a personal one. Dolohov. That’s whom we have to watch. Oh and Bill Margins is poking Melissa Jaund in the records archive.”
~~#~~
“It’s funny, you know,”
A cloudless sky lay before them, outside the window, ushering in a bright, unusually hot day for third week of September. The others were already at breakfast, but the two of them sat on a windowsill in the dormitory Hermione had now moved in along with her former and again classmates, reducing the regular space per girl to about less than half of the usual.
There would be a party in the evening to celebrate both her birthday, down in the common room, with all her friends, the entire DA and Order but Mundungus – after dinner. Her parents would get to see Hogwarts for the first time. They would be arriving via Floo to the Hog’s Head, just after lunchtime. She wanted it like that. McGonagall had agreed that a carriage would be sent to get them, and that she had altered the enchantments around the castle so they alone would see it like any other witch or wizard did. Hermione wanted them to really experience that. She herself would be waiting at the front gates to pick them up. Then she would lead them around the castle. Her parents were still light on their feet, so she could gladly expect them to put up with it. Then they would have dinner in the Great Hall together, and go upstairs for the party. But for now, she sat on the windowsill with her friend.
“I’d probably drive a car – have a big party as well, with all my friends from grammar school – maybe even kick my parents out of it – but instead, they’re going to be the first Muggles ever that will see Hogwarts. They’ll be famous among wizards – I – I didn’t even think about that when I asked McGonagall whether it’s possible.”
“I think, they’d be fine with it. Let them share some of the fame with you. After all, you only have one pair of real parents.”
His education had made a lasting impression. Not only on Ginny, as she knew. Hermione was glad to have something like a sister now, and could tell that Ginny was too.
“And they’re not the first.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re not the first, Hermione. I know of at least one more who had gotten to see it. But – but that’s completely unimportant now.”, she thought quite differently the moment she got to hear that, but was left no chance to discuss further into the matter. “Why’re you not going for Christmas NEWTs?”
“I – ”, Hermione sighed, “I think, it was – mainly because I’d like to use the library without having to ask for special permission, for as long as possible.”
For a moment, they just looked at each other, then burst into bright laughter. It felt good to laugh. Especially Ginny hadn’t laughed much ever since the end of the war and seeing her like that, was like fireworks in Hermione’s heart.
“Um, Ginny?”
“Yes?”
“Do you – do you scream?”
“Er – what do you mean?”, both grins vanished.
“Well, I don’t know how to say that – it’s just – well, Ron’s totally quiet.”, Ginevra raised an eyebrow like she had never done before, but the way she did it looked alarmingly familiar, almost as if she wanted to tease her. “I – I mean, he’s breathing, yes, but I just know when he’s done when I get to see his face or when he finally crushes me – ”
“Oh my god – you – you mean – ”, Ginevra couldn’t resist having another laugh, to the landscape outside though. “Not really. You know, with a house full of brothers, I learned to come quiet. Seems, it’s some general family issue.”
“Okay. That’s good. I already thought there’s something wrong with him. You know, Severus’ been totally different.”
“Groaning his soul out, I guess. And clutching his fingers into anything he can get hold of, making you glad he can still differ you from your surrounding and takes that instead. Okay, it’s really turning me on, but it’s also a bit frightening.”
“Er – ”, Hermione gaped at her as she still studied the hills.
“That’s what Harry does.”
“Really?”, she aspirated.
“Yeah. Thought they’d be the same.”, there was some rather tense pause. “Don’t look at me like that. He said he’s told you. No need to be so surprised.”
“He told you?”, Hermione blinked.
“No. I told him. He didn’t even need to confirm it. Well, he did, but it’s been clear to me for years actually. They’re so much alike. If I’d known first that James had been his brother, I would have thought differently though.”
“When was that? When did you – ”
Hermione listened closely to every word Ginny said, trying to summarise what exactly she knew, or perhaps might know which she herself didn’t. But it seemed, he hadn’t told Ginny any more than she had gotten to know. It appeared to be far less. By the end of her explanation, both their faces were washed with tears, and Ginny’s neck supposedly stiff from not having turned her face off the window.
“Yes, you’ve lost a man you loved. But I’ve lost my father-in-law. And even though I’ve been addressing him like usual for more than half a year, he’s been a father to me ever since he apologised for having slapped me. I’ve – I’ve lost – my second Dad – ”
At last she couldn’t fight it down anymore and gave in to her crying, shaking terribly with her forehead against the old rhombic pieces of glass. Hermione slid down and pulled her upper body away from it, into a tight embrace, while she cried silently with her.
~~#~~
“An’enn, ’e went aaaaall like – ”
“`I suppose, you should be questioning the education you received yourself, Professor. It appears to be rather old-fashioned.´”, Hermione recited for him, stunning Slughorn and her parents, Neville, Seamus, Dean, Ron, the Patil twins, Flitwick, Harry and Ginevra; who belonged to those sitting on chairs in their corner, Ginevra on his lap; all other present Weasleys, Hagrid, McGonagall, Hannah and supposedly Draco and Luna alike – or at least they did a magnificent job at pretending. “`I am though not a supporter of this stoner-revolution that is said to be happening beside us in the world of Muggles, but I daresay, while you seem to have been carried away by the one half of it, I was carried away by the other, and I by far prefer it above smoking Gillyweed. Your book is outdated, wrong and deceptive, Sir. Live with it.´”
“Oho! But of course, ’e’d ’ave boasted abou’ zissheek. Twenny poinss ta Gryffinnoor!”, everyone laughed, not only because of his questionable ability to stand quite straight even though brandishing heavily. “Yessss. An’enn ’e threw in zat leaf – an’ – poof!”, Parvati shrieked and ducked away from the shower of whine that hit the red carpet beneath, where it would dry without leaving visible stains. “Oh – me bad, Miss Paddle. Din’ mean ta. An’ sssorry, whine. Never wanned ta kill ya eitha. Where was I? Ai yesssss, poof – an’ zat Potion was complete, ann hour before it should, an’ todally perfffffect. Neva ssseen a better before.”, he sighed mournfully now.
“What did you do then?”, Harry asked, unable to stop himself from grinning.
“He’s awarded him with ten points, but put him in Detention for the nasty words.”, Draco meant. “Though that one never was recorded.”
“Dear Horace didn’t want to cast a slur on himself. Asking a third-year to give him tutoring in Potions was clearly a disgrace for our grand Master of Concoction.”, Flitwick chuckled and rebooted the laughter that knocked down Slughorn’s annoyed muttering.
Suddenly, there were green flames in the fireplace. All who saw them, either jumped back from them or made others turn. Momentarily, everyone was silent. Dean, closest to the gramophone, deadened it with his wand. A man with a moustache stepped out, in a long dark tartan robe, his look rather blank as he searched for someone. Ginevra kindly stood up and Harry dug his way through his friends, along with Kingsley.
“Good evening, Mr Robards.”, he said calm when having come to halt by the sofa. “You are surely aware, that you are gatecrashing?”
“Indeed, indeed, Minister, but this is very urgent. Mr Potter, I would like you to see that.”, he held a folder towards Harry, who didn’t notice him swallow, but only stared at the top secret stamp on it after he had taken it in hands.
“What’s that, Harry?”, Hermione had joined them, but he impassively turned away from her, walked over to the window where no one stood, and opened the folder. “Harry?”, her eyes travelled between his back and Robards who slightly loosened his dicky with his expression still illegible.
“How many guards?”, said Harry, serious, and closed the folder, though did not turn.
“Twenty– ”, Robards croaked and cleared his throat, “Twenty-seven. They were taken systematically, from behind, as it seems. Everyone has the same memory; they have been questioned separately. They were shushed with a cloth to their mouth and passed out seconds after. No one even saw a hand. They are currently scanned for preservation of evidence, though I am not putting much hope into that. No sound, no trace. A smooth work. They came and went, and nobody noticed it. And they must have been quick. All of the guards woke up almost simultaneously.”
“Or they received precisely measured servings of a Sleeping Potion once they’d been made unconscious.”, Harry meant.
“Or that. Yes.”, Robards sighed. “The cell was locked with exactly the enchantments that had been prepared and four Dementors had obviously been no obstacle. They could have taken any other of the prisoners, but they only took him. When the guards checked, he was dead already. Assumingly an hour. And no one – noticed.”
“Whom?”, asked Kingsley. “Whom did they kill?”, Robards took a deep breath, but Harry; still not turning from the window and Robards knowing that giving him the folder wouldn’t have been necessary at all; answered the question, with an audible ire that was mixed with utter irony and even some complacency.
“Antonin Dolohov.”
~~#~~