The Potter Conspiracy

A/N: Sorry for the slight delay in posting this chapter.  Real life interfered in the form of a project at work.  I should be able to get back to posting once per week from here on in, though sometimes things are out of my hands.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter and I’m not making any money off this.  It’s purely for fun.

Chapter Nineteen – The Center Cannot Hold

October 17, 1995 – Hogwarts, Hospital Wing

Albus Dumbledore looked intently at the sleeping form of Alastor Moody.  The aged former Auror was lying in the same bed that Harry Potter frequented in the hospital wing.  Their plan to kidnap Harry had turned into a disaster, but even that was overshadowed by the catastrophe of Fudge’s announcement the previous afternoon.

Dumbledore had expected to be sought out by everyone when Voldemort’s return was finally acknowledged.  But those who most admired him in the Wizengamot were either dead or locked fearfully in their homes.  Far from seeking his counsel, Minister Fudge had outright refused to speak to him.  Now it appeared as though Malfoy had blackmailed or intimidated the man into handing him the keys to the kingdom.

With his chief enemies in the Wizengamot dead, Malfoy had called for an emergency vote to support Fudge’s peace treaty.  Those likely to oppose the measure had been blackmailed or intimidated into remaining at home.  A bare quorum of Malfoy’s allies and other conservative purebloods gave their approval, and the Ministry was essentially handed to Voldemort on a silver platter.  Cowardice and bigotry had won the day, and now the entire wizarding world was going to pay the price.

The situation had just exploded out of control, and now Dumbledore’s only means of discovering Voldemort’s future plans was dead.

When he returned to his office the night before last, Dumbledore had been shocked to discover a bleeding Kingsley Shacklebolt sitting by himself and looking apprehensively at Fawkes.  He had known instantly that something had gone wrong, but he simply could not believe how wrong.

Harry Potter had killed Severus Snape.  Killed him.  And then he had nearly tortured Alastor Moody to death to ensure his escape.  Dumbledore had not previously believed Harry capable of taking another person’s life.  Despite his recent rebellion, the boy had always been deferential, polite, and merciful.  The last few months appeared to have awakened a vicious streak.

Fawkes’ intercession with Kingsley was the final insult to his failed efforts.  He had kept the planning of the abduction far from Fawkes keen ears, but that precaution had apparently been pointless.  He had raged at his familiar for a half hour, intent on punishing or constraining the bird somehow.  But Fawkes’ cool gaze upon him and Kingsley’s fearful story stayed his wand.  He had enough troubles without getting into a battle with his own phoenix.  If Fawkes weren’t so useful to him in other circumstances, he would have endeavored to banish him from the castle.

Now he was wanted by both sides in the coming conflict.  Amelia Bones had sent him a notice of arrest with a house elf, and its one line confirmed that he had just burned his last bridge with her:

“You will rot in Azkaban, you bastard.”

For the first time in many years, Albus Dumbledore found himself not knowing how to proceed.  His only means to spy on Voldemort’s activities was dead, and his Order was in disarray, forced into hiding by Bones’ wrath.  Everything seemed to be working against him.

With the capitulation of the Ministry, it was imperative that he work with Bones, Croaker, and other opponents of Voldemort to restore order.  But he couldn’t do that if Bones was out for his blood.  Snape’s imperious curse on Susan Bones was regrettable, of course, but they had been backed into a corner.  They had been careful that no harm come to the girl, after all.

Now that he had locked down the castle and contacted the Order, he needed to find out exactly what had happened in Dorcas Meadowes’ cottage.  How had Harry managed to best two fully-trained wizards in combat, especially when he had been caught completely by surprise?

“Alastor.”

“Alastor,” he whispered again, trying not to surprise the paranoid man.

Moody grunted and coughed as he came awake.  He had been lying in this bed for the past 36 hours, sliding in and out of consciousness.  Madam Pomfrey had him on a massive dose of pain potion to deal with the brutally cauterized stump of his left leg.

He sighed despairingly as his good eye focused on Dumbledore.

“What do you want now, Albus?  I already told you everything I know.  Why won’t you just let me sleep?”

“I’m sorry, old friend.  I know you’re in pain, but I need to see your memory of what happened in the cottage.  I’ve put things in order as best as I can, and now I must see what has happened to Harry.  I just cannot fathom the fact that he was able to defeat both you and Severus in combat.”

Moody snorted at Dumbledore’s condescension.  “I told you I didn’t see Snape die, and it wasn’t a bloody fair fight.  We didn’t know the kid’s spells were that powerful, and we couldn’t throw any lethal spells at him.  I daresay you would have trouble taking the boy down if you used only stunners and bludgeoners.”

“Harry was not that powerful when he left here; even with the block removed, he should not be so imposing.  That is why I must see what happened, Alastor.”

“Fine.  Get your bloody fruit bowl.”

Dumbledore retrieved his pensieve, which was waiting on the stand next to Moody’s bed.  He obligingly provided the memory and then turned his head away from Dumbledore.  The proud old man was suffering both the loss to Harry in combat and the loss of his remaining foot.  He truly was a cripple now.

When Dumbledore returned from the pensieve, he had a grim look on his face.  Though the memory did not include Snape’s death, it did show Harry’s bloody state when he destroyed Moody’s foot.  Apparently he and Snape had battled viciously with one another, and Harry had bested the man somehow.  The presence of the wounded house elf confused him, but he did not dwell on it.

“Still think the boy’s helpless, Albus?” Moody said bitterly, his face turned toward the lone window of the hospital wing.

“No.  No, I don’t,” he replied softly, unwilling to rub salt in the old Auror’s wounds.  “I still don’t believe he has what it takes to defeat Voldemort, but I admit that his reflexes and power are now formidable.”

“Then why don’t you train the boy instead of trying to bloody kill him?!” Moody roared, his face flushed red.  “The boy obliterates every obstacle we throw at him!  Your own goddamned phoenix got involved again.  Doesn’t that suggest anything to you, Albus?”

Like all stubborn people when faced with a mistake of their own making, Dumbledore dug in his heels and assumed an air of condescension.

“Alastor, it serves no purpose to get angry at me.  You agreed with my understanding of the prophecy from the start.  Harry may have gotten stronger, but that does not mean our thinking is in error.  If anything, it makes our situation that much more urgent.  If Harry continues to train and grow stronger, it will only delay the defeat of the Dark Lord.  It will take the boy years to be strong enough.  Meanwhile the world will burn!”

“It’s already burning, Albus!  And it’s because you didn’t bloody tell anyone what was going on!  If I were Amelia I’d want your head on a pike.”

Dumbledore grimaced.  “She does.  A house elf delivered a warrant for my arrest.  It’s only line was ‘You will rot in Azkaban, you bastard.’  But Amelia is the least of our problems at the moment.”

Moody’s eyebrows rose incredulously.  “And how do you figure that?”

“The Wizengamot,” Dumbledore replied bitterly.  “They are now useless as a governing body.  They passed Fudge’s peace treaty with a bare quorum, and the only ones whom Malfoy can’t influence are now either dead, in hiding, or have resigned in protest.  Voldemort has control of the government, even if not everyone realizes it.”

“Bloody hell,” Moody whispered.  “What about the ICW?  You were meeting with them when we tried to trap Potter.”

“They will do nothing,” Dumbledore sighed, rubbing his eyes.  “So long as the conflict does not leave our shores, it does not concern them.  Especially since the legitimate government of Britain remains in place, as far as they’re concerned.  Many of them know that the treaty is a farce, but it’s an excuse not to help.”

“What now, then?”

Dumbledore sighed again and his previous energy seemed to drain out of him.  “Now?  Now we do what we can to protect the students and give people some hope.  I had no choice but to lock down Hogwarts.”

“Fortress Hogwarts,” Moody stated appreciatively.

“Yes.  For the first time in 400 years, this castle must become a true fortress.  I must keep both Amelia and Cornelius out of this place.  We will accept those people who need sanctuary and let the students decide whether they wish to stay or go elsewhere with their families.  The muggleborns have already been warned about the danger to themselves and their families.”

“And the Order?”

“They’ve gone to ground.  Amelia has issued arrest warrants for everyone.  Someone in the group, likely one of the Aurors, has given her our full roster.  Dedalus and Emmeline are in Hogwarts, and I suspect that more will come soon.  I’ve warned Hagrid to be careful when he returns to Britain in a few days.”

Moody shook his head in disbelief at the direness of the situation.  Neither spoke for a while, the old men sitting contemplatively in silence, each lost in his own thoughts.

“400 years,” Dumbledore mumbled exhaustedly, gazing out the window.  “It has come to this.”

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October 20, 1995 – Bones Manor

Three days later, Harry Potter walked out of Bones Manor and into the brilliant sunshine that was illuminating its grounds.  He breathed deeply of the fresh air, exulting in the sensation of expanding his lungs fully with no pain.  After three days of confinement on healer’s orders, he had finally gotten the go-ahead to leave the Manor and resume his training.

Dobby was up and moving again as well, having refused to sit still while his Harry Potter Sir was injured.  He now sported an ugly scar across his torso, its dimensions nearly matching Harry’s, but he was proud of it.  Harry thought he would around naked to show it off if he were allowed to do so.

Harry had thanked him profusely when Dobby regained consciousness, though the elf insisted he was only doing his duty.  Harry rewarded him with a small black silk robe to replace his usual pillow case.  When he understood that it was a reward and not clothes, Dobby was ecstatic.

Sitting down on the front steps of the Manor, Harry relaxed and observed the feverish activity going on around him.  Seven wizards, a couple Aurors among them, were erecting a makeshift barracks on the front lawn.  Bones Manor would be serving as one of the primary safe houses for those resisting Voldemort and the Ministry.  The others were Porpington Hall, the ancestral home of Hogwarts’ own Nearly Headless Nick, and Dolbadarn Castle in Wales, a site that muggles thought to be a single ruined tower.  There would be people at all three sites around the clock.

Much of the wizarding world was still reeling in shock after Minister Fudge’s announcement four days prior.  A few gullible people actually celebrated the announced peace, while most wondered warily what would happen next.  Purebloods, in particular, never having been the target of Voldemort’s wrath, were adopting a ‘wait-and-see’ attitude.  Business continued almost as usual in Diagon Alley and other wizarding sites.

Tonks had told him that the funerals for the assassinated wizards and witches had gone off without incident.  She had attended the funeral for Arthur Weasley at the Burrow, and it had been typical if tense.  Harry’s name had not come up, but she could tell that there were severely strained relations between the members of the family.

Meanwhile, The Daily Prophet, firmly under Fudge’s thumb, had begun a propaganda campaign against Madam Bones, Croaker, Dumbledore, and several Aurors who had left the Ministry.  They were “wanted for questioning,” accused of trying to disrupt the new peace and foment violence.  The average citizen didn’t know what to think, but so far Voldemort and his Death Eaters had not done anything to indicate that the truce was a ruse.

Bones and Croaker had been working like mad to set up a sort of shadow government.  Ministry employees, especially Aurors and Unspeakables, were being forced to take sides.  Confusion reigned within the Ministry as everyone debated the shocking new turn of events.  Bones had ordered the Ministry obliviators to remain on duty at the Ministry, as it was essential to maintain the Statute of Secrecy, even in a time of civil war.

That was the only way to describe the current situation.  They were now in a civil war with the Ministry and Voldemort’s Death Eaters for control over wizarding Britain.

Their troubles with Dumbledore had therefore been placed on the backburner.  Bones had explained to Harry that Hogwarts was now in lockdown, a nearly impenetrable fortress whose wards were under Dumbledore’s sole control.  He would not be paying for his crimes any time soon.   

“Hello again, Mr. Potter,” said a voice from behind him, and Harry turned to see who was greeting him.

“Good morning, Mr. Mockridge.”

Cuthbert Mockridge was the former Ministry liaison to the goblins, having abandoned his post the day before.  He was one of Amelia’s closest allies, and was still grieving over losing his nephew in the attack on her.

Mockridge knelt slowly and seated himself beside Harry, an awkward motion for someone of his bulk.  He was a large man, standing over 6’4, and years of sitting behind a desk had given him a rather portly physique.

“Quite a spectactle, isn’t it, young man?”

Harry nodded, his eyes traveling back to the hurried activities of the builders.  “Yes, sir.  I can’t believe it’s come to this.  I never thought it would be so easy for Voldemort to just take over the government.”

“Nor I, Mr. Potter, nor I.  But whoever controls the Wizengamot controls the wizarding world; Lucius Malfoy really did a number on his opposition there.”

“What happens next?”  Harry asked curiously.  He had been confined to the house for the past three days, and Madam Bones was rarely available to tell him everything that was happening.

“Well, at the moment we’re arranging an operation to remove our gold from Gringotts.  So far the goblins are recognizing the authority of Fudge’s ministry, and it’s only a matter of time before the Ministry makes a move to confiscate the vaults of ‘traitors.’  Your friend Tonks is there now undercover, setting things up.”

“What kind of operation?  You’re not talking about fighting the goblins, are you?”

Mockridge smiled wryly.  “Merlin, I hope not.  We’re just planning for the worst.  Soon a group will be traveling en masse to Gringotts to remove their gold and valuables.  You’ll have to be part of that group too, young man, if you want what’s in your vault, that is.”

“I do.  But will the goblins just let us take everything?”

“We shall see, Mr. Potter.  They tend to stay neutral in wizarding battles, as conflict is good for business.  The trouble is that they’re still acknowledging the Ministry’s authority, and we’re not sure just how far Malfoy’s influence extends into Gringotts.  We may have a fight on our hands.  That would be a disaster for both them and us, so I’m hopeful things will go off as planned.”

“Boring the lad with a history of goblin rebellions, are you Cuthbert?”

Harry and Mockridge turned as a new voice spoke behind them, and they saw Croaker and another Unspeakable emerge from the house.

“No, Algernon, although I dare say it would be more interesting than what happens in your department.  Mr. Potter, did you know that the DoM has a team of Unspeakables whose full-time job is to count the number of letters in ancient scrolls, searching for hidden meanings?”

Harry grinned at Croaker.  “That sounds fascinating.”

“Laugh it up, gentlemen,” Croaker responded haughtily.  “You’d be thanking Merlin in your prayers if you knew what my department had removed from the Ministry in the past week.  There’s enough stuff in there to cause the apocalypse.”

“Yes, we are all quite thankful for your foresight, Algernon,” Mockridge smirked.  “Did you make sure to get that lovely vat full of tentacled brains?”

Croaker ignored the jab.

“Harry, this is my colleague, Unspeakable Bungard.  Silas here will take you through that battery of tests I was telling you about.  You’ll need your wand and we’ll ask for some blood, but it won’t be exhausting or painful.  You’ll be fine for your training this afternoon.”

Harry nodded and rose to greet Silas Bungard.  He was short and thin, and wore wire-framed glasses that gave him a professorial air.

“Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Likewise, Mr. Potter.  Now if you’ll follow me, please, we have quite a lot to do.”

Harry followed the Unspeakable into the house, wary about what would be demanded of him.  Croaker was skeptical that the tests would reveal anything, but if they could locate an obvious “power he knows not,” it would only be to their advantage.

As soon as Harry was inside, Mockridge turned to Croaker.  “Care to explain to me why the boy is here instead of at Hogwarts, Algernon?  Amelia told me it was imperative to keep him safe from Dumbledore, but I don’t understand why Dumbledore would want to harm him.”

Croaker considered the question thoughtfully as he watched the construction going on around him.  “I can’t say much at the moment, Cuthbert.  It’s something we need to keep very secret.  But suffice it to say that Amelia is right, and that Mr. Potter will be very important to winning this war.”

Mockridge looked at Croaker incredulously.  “But he’s a teenager, Algernon.  I know he’s The-Boy-Who-Lived, but is he ready to fight in a war?”

Croaker frowned at the question.  “He better be; he better be.”

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Later that afternoon, Harry was ensconced in a comfortable arm chair in the Bones library, idly flipping through a book on the use of transfiguration in combat.  His skills at the difficult art had not improved dramatically since the removal of his block, and he was worried that it could be a serious handicap in future battles.  Moody and Snape had not used it against him, but that was no guarantee that others wouldn’t.

Sighing in frustration at the descriptions of various ways to distract or immobilize opponents, he looked up when Tonks walked through the open door.

“Oy, Potter,” she grinned at him.  “Harry Potter’s Tonksie is returning Harry Potter Sir’s mirror.”

Harry groaned as he accepted the mirror from Tonks.  Dobby’s nicknames for his friends and allies were quickly becoming a running joke at Bones Manor.

“Er, how did it go?”  he asked hesitantly.

“Very illuminating,” Tonks replied cryptically.

“Outstanding,” Harry muttered, wondering just what sort of mischief Tonks had planned for him.

Yesterday he had finally remembered to ask Tonks about her possession of his mirror.  She had sheepishly admitted that she was trying to contact Parvati.  After Harry’s revelation that he had killed Snape, she had “borrowed” his mirror to warn Parvati about what happened and to make sure she understood that he needed her support rather than her condemnation.  She had been unable to reach Parvati on that day, but her concerns remained.  She had bullied Harry into surrendering the mirror for the day.

“I still don’t understand why you needed to talk to her, Tonks.  I’m fine.”

“Maybe so, Harry-kins, but I’ve seen tougher people than you come undone by having to kill other people.  You’ve got the entire wizarding world after your sorry arse, and sooner or later you’re likely to lose it.  So far you’re fine, but your girlfriend needs to understand what’s happening when you do.  Like it or not, she’s become a part of this, and she needs to realize how serious it is.  She can’t be talking about the things you tell her, and I wanted to be sure she wasn’t filling your head with a lot of rot.”

Tonks finished by patting Harry’s cheek affectionately, causing Harry to squirm away.

“She’s not my girlfriend, Tonks, and I’m fine,” he repeated, flustered at her mothering.

“Keep telling yourself that, Harry,” Tonks grinned.  “I’ve got to get back to Diagon Alley after I eat.  We need to talk about Gringotts soon, but it can wait.  Make sure you do me proud with Proudfoot and Savage this afternoon.”

He shook his head disbelievingly at her retreating back.  Tonks was a whirlwind of noise and cheer whenever she walked into a room.  Sometimes he forgot that she was a fully-trained Auror.

Worried that she and Parvati had conspired to embarrass him somehow, he looked at the mirror apprehensively.  Better go ahead and get this over with, he thought.

“Parvati Patil,” he spoke uncertainly, wondering if she would be available at this time of day.  He knew she didn’t have class at this hour, but things were unpredictable at Hogwarts since the lockdown.

His call was answered immediately.  “Hello, Harry,” Parvati smiled as her face appeared.

“Hi, Parvati.  Are you, er, decent this time?”

“You mean am I sitting naked in a bubble bath?”  Parvati laughed.  “No, Harry, I’m wearing robes.  New ones, in fact.  Do you like them?”

She tilted the mirror downward, and Harry caught a glimpse of contoured scarlet robes that definitely flattered her figure.

“Er, yeah, they’re nice…Maybe not as nice as what you were wearing in the bath, though,” he muttered in an undertone.

Parvati’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open slightly.  “Ha…Harry Potter!  Did you just flirt with me?  You did!  You just flirted with me!”

Harry’s face began to match the color of Parvati’s new robes, and she chuckled delightedly at him.

“You’re human after all, Harry.  Congratulations.  But I bet you flirt with Susan now everyday, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t, thank you very much,” Harry replied with mock indignation.  “I barely even see her.  And I’m thrilled that you doubted my humanity… How was your conversation with Tonks?  She didn’t, er—what did she tell you exactly?”

“It was girl talk, Harry.  You don’t get to know.  But she’s quite an interesting witch, I’ll tell you.  Just full of interesting ideas.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Harry groaned.  “I don’t think I can take the two of you conspiring.  I’m going to hide my mirror with Dobby.”

“Don’t you dare, Harry.  She cares about you a lot, and she knows all sorts of fantastic gossip about you.”

“Now I’m definitely hiding the mirror,” Harry whined.  “What happened today at Hogwarts?  Anything new?”

Parvati’s demeanor suddenly grew more serious.  “Well, classes are still going on, despite the lockdown.  Parents are starting to show up and withdraw people after the Headmaster checks their identities.  Lavender’s gone, and so is Morag McDougall.  Neville came back to the castle finally, but most of the dark Slytherins seem to be staying.  It’s strange.”

“Malfoy’s still there, then?  I wonder why they would let him be that close to Dumbledore.  Surely they don’t think he can spy on him.”

“No idea, Harry.  But…well, my parents are coming to get me and Padma tomorrow.  I think they’re planning on going to India if things continue to get worse.”

“Oh,” said Harry.  “Well, that’s, er, for the best, I suppose.  You’ll be much safer out of the country.  Do you suppose the mirrors will work from that far away?”

“I’m staying here, Harry,” Parvati said softly, looking closely at his face to see his reaction.

“What?”

“I’m staying here.  I…I don’t want to run and hide if there’s something I can do to help.  I know I can’t fight, but there’s surely something I can do.  At the least I can stay in the castle and let you know what’s happening here.”

Harry took a few seconds to process that response.  “Parvati, I really do appreciate how much you’re doing for me, and I, er, well…I like talking to you, a lot, but it’s dangerous if you stay there.”

“I know, Harry.  But it’s dangerous everywhere now, and this way I get to feel like I’m helping you.  I like being able to help you, Harry.  You’re very…there’s just something special about you.”

Harry colored a little at the sincerity of her response.  The conversation had taken a serious turn that he had not expected.  “I, er…thank you, Parvati.  You’re very special too.  To me,” he added lamely.

Parvati grinned in response.  “Well, thank you, Harry.  I’ll take what I can get.”

“Have you told Padma you’re staying yet?”

“Yes, and she threw a fit, but I expected it.  I’m expecting an even bigger row tomorrow when my dad shows up.  But don’t worry, Harry, I’ve always been able to get what I want.”

“Just don’t estrange yourself from your family to help me, okay?”

“It’ll be fine, Harry, you’ll see.  Now, you need to do something about the Hermione situation right away.  She looks like she’s about to have a stroke every time she looks at me.”

Harry sighed.  “Alright, tell her I’ll talk to her tomorrow evening.  I need to think about what to say to her.  Why is she not leaving Hogwarts?”

“I don’t know, Harry, you’ll have to ask her.  I haven’t exactly been seeking her out for conversation lately.  She did want me to ask you, though, if someone where you were staying could help her cancel the oaths she took to the Headmaster.  She says she can’t figure out how to get around them without going to him.”

“Alright, I’ll ask,” Harry frowned, “but for Merlin’s sake tell her not to go to Dumbledore.  Surely she’s not that stupid.”

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Reeling a little from having such a personal conversation with Parvati, Harry was distracted when the time came for his first training session since his injury.  Since Tonks was doing reconnaissance at Gringotts, he would be getting new trainers for the day.  He had expected Susan to be joining his training sessions, but she had expressed no interest.  Madam Bones had informed him that she would be tutored in defense, but that Harry’s training was too advanced for her.  Susan had become very withdrawn since her return to Bones Manor, and Harry suspected that she was still traumatized by Dumbledore’s use of an unforgivable on her.

As he exited Bones Manor, he saw two men dressed in red Auror robes waiting on him.

“Harry Potter,” declared a tall, blond-haired man in an imperious manner. “My name is Pax Proudfoot and this is Julian Savage.  We are to evaluate your progress in magical combat today.  We are Senior Aurors and have much better things to be doing, so please try not to waste our time.”

Harry was a bit taken-aback by the brusqueness of the speech, but nodded agreeably.  “Nice to meet you both, and I’ll do my best.”

Proudfoot eyed him doubtfully, but didn’t respond.  Harry thought he resembled the Malfoy family a little too closely for comfort.  His short blond hair and haughty demeanor could easily make him a cousin of Draco Malfoy’s.

Savage grinned at Harry.  “Don’t mind him, Harry.  He was born with a broom shoved up his arse.  The healers tried to remove it, but it was just lodged in there too tight.  Tonks tells us great things about you.”

Harry smirked a little and glanced uncertainly at the glare that Proudfoot was sending Savage’s way.  Savage was shorter than Proudfoot, barely taller than Harry, in fact, and had an easy grin when he spoke.  He had messy black hair and light blue eyes, and bore a superficial resemblance to Harry.

“Alright, Potter, this is where you get to show us what you can do,” said Proudfoot.  “Julian can stroke your ego later.”

With that, he stepped out of the way and gestured toward a series of targets he had prepared on the lawn.

“First I want to see how accurate you are with your spells.  Then I want to see how powerful you are.  Then we’re going to do everything again with us throwing spells at you,” he smirked.

“Fine,” Harry shrugged.  Evidently these men weren’t aware that he did this every day with Tonks.

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Two hours later, the three of them sat loosely in lawn chairs that Savage had conjured for the group.  Harry had run their gauntlet with relative ease, and even Proudfoot had been impressed with the strength of his spells.  When Harry let it slip that he had just fought Snape and Moody, the pair had called an end to the display and practically demanded to see Harry’s memory of the battle.  Harry wasn’t entirely sure he should be sharing it with them, but if Bones trusted them to train him he supposed it couldn’t hurt anything.

Madam Bone’s pensieve now lay on a table in front of them, and Harry closed his eyes while Savage removed the memory from his head.  He opted not to show them the latter portion of the memory, where he destroyed Moody’s foot.  A house elf watched the proceedings anxiously, wanting to take the priceless pensieve back inside as soon as these humans were finished with it.

With Harry’s memory deposited and swirling slowly in the huge bowl, all three of them put their faces forward to watch.

When they returned a couple minutes later, Savage whistled appreciatively.  Proudfoot examined Harry appraisingly, an unreadable look on his face.  For his part, Harry felt a little green at watching himself mercilessly dispatch Snape.  He felt no regret over his actions, but seeing them played out like a muggle movie made him uncomfortable.  It was not a memory that he ever wanted to see again.

“I must admit,” said Proudfoot, looking at Harry closely, “that you handled yourself fairly well in that fight.  I am stunned that you were able to take out Mad-Eye Moody, even if he was fighting with one hand behind his back.  Do you know what you did wrong?”

“Er, no,” Harry replied.  “I was just trying to get out of there alive.”

“Well, you’re only alive because they weren’t trying to kill you.  If they had been firing killing curses, you’d be a corpse right now.  Still, you could have gotten out of there more easily if you had chained your spells.  And turning your back on Snape was almost the last thing you ever did.”

“I don’t know how to chain spells yet.  And I’d like to see you take on two people at once in that situation,” Harry responded with indignation.

“Easy, Harry,” Savage smiled.  “Pax just doesn’t know how to give a proper compliment.  We’ll teach you to chain your spells, but that will take quite a while to master.  And you did the right thing with Snape.  You didn’t know the condition of your other opponent, so you took Snape out of the fight permanently.”

“Er, thank you,” Harry replied.  He felt oddly exposed discussing his brutality toward Snape.  “What else do I need to know besides the chaining?  My transfiguration is terrible, I know, but I want to be prepared the next time this happens.”

“We’ll make a list, Potter,” said Proudfoot.  “You need to know chaining, get better at transfiguration, learn how to work with a team, and definitely learn some battlefield healing.  Plus we need to get you a spare wand.  I’m sure Director Bones will approve it.”

“Most of all you just need some more experience.  And from what Director Bones said, you’re likely to get it,” added Savage, obviously curious about Harry’s role in recent events.

Harry nodded in thought.  “What about that little bit of wandless magic I did?  Can I train to use that?”

Savage shrugged.  “We’ll get you a book, Harry, but neither of us is very strong at wandless.  It’s pretty useless, on the whole, anyway.  The only thing it’s good for is light summoning and levitation.”

Harry looked at Savage in confusion.  “But I thought Dumbledore did complex wandless magic all the time.  He’s always just waving his hands and making things appear.”

Proudfoot snorted derisively.  “How old are you again, Potter?  Those are parlor tricks meant to impress little kids.  Haven’t you noticed that his wandless magic usually involves food?  He’s got an army of house elves at his beck and call.  It’s orchestrated.”

“Oh,” said Harry dumbly, a little disappointed that wandless magic wouldn’t be very useful to him in a fight.  “What about becoming an animagus, then?  My dad was a stag, I just learned.  And I’ve got a little grimoire of neat spells I’ve put together.  Here,” Harry said, rummaging quickly through his robes and pulling out his little muggle notebook.

Proudfoot flipped casually through the book while Savage answered Harry’s question.

“There’s no point in trying to become an animagus, Harry.  It takes years to master, and Madam Bones told us to get you battle-ready as soon as possible.  You can’t cast magic when you’re in an animagus form.  Unless you turn into a rhinoceros or something, it’s pretty useless too.”

“Oh,” Harry replied again.  His illusions about what was useful in a wizarding fight were quickly being shattered.

Proudfoot, meanwhile, had finished perusing Harry’s grimoire and tossed it at his feet.  “That stuff is mostly a waste of time, Potter.  You already know the basic offensive spells, and the rest of it is a load of fancy rubbish that will get you killed.”

Harry was growing annoyed with Proudfoot’s combative attitude.  There was no reason to insult all the work he put into his grimoire.

“Why is it rubbish?”  he demanded.  “Everything in there is a battle spell.”

Proudfoot rolled his eyes.  “Right.  So you really want to practice making javelins out of ice to throw at people?  Why?  While you’re waving your wand around like a lunatic someone will hit you in the chest with a ‘reducto.’”

“What about the fire whip spell, then?  Or the blast that deafens everyone in range?”  Harry replied, growing annoyed at Proudfoot’s dismissals.

Proudfoot smirked at Harry’s irritation.  “The deafener isn’t useful against someone who can cast silently, and fire whips are only good against inferi and magical creatures.  If you used one against a skilled wizard, it would just get you killed.”

“Why?” inquired Harry, now just as curious as he was irritated.

Proudfoot sighed and glanced sideways at Savage, who was grinning at him.

“Potter, what the bloody hell do they teach at Hogwarts these days?  Let me guess, you’re taking divination rather than ancient runes.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at Proudfoot, but nodded slowly.

“Well, you see, we have these things called wand movements.  You might have noticed.  Those wand movements derive from the ancient runes that were once used as magical foci.  It’s why you need a ‘swish and flick’ to get something to levitate.  How long would it take you to cast your pretty little fire whip?”

Harry shrugged and pulled his wand.  He had yet to master this spell, but he could manage a sizeable whip.

Moving his wand in an intricate circular motion and then slicing through the air with a cross-like pattern, Harry whispered “aduro flagrum” and a thin whip of fire sprang from his wand.  Unfortunately, Harry had not taken into account the closeness of the Aurors.

Proudfoot fell backwards out of his chair to get out of the way of the wayward flame, which Harry was now struggling to control.  Savage burst out laughing and cast a shield to protect himself, just in case.

Harry hurriedly canceled the spell.

“Right,” said Proudfoot irritably, lifting himself from the ground and brushing himself off.  “I think I’ve made my point.  Not only can you not control the bloody thing, but it took you over two seconds to complete the wand movements.  Two seconds during which someone would have removed your head from your shoulders.  Don’t ever cast that bloody spell around me again, Potter.”

“Sorry,” Harry muttered sheepishly.  He was impressively powerful, and rightfully proud of the progress he had been making with Tonks, but it appeared that he still had a long way to go in his training.

“No worries, Potter,” Savage smiled.  “You’ll have to ask Pax here about the time that Tonks was practicing her battle transfiguration and accidentally turned his legs into…”

A sudden screech interrupted Savage’s story, and all three wizards turned toward the noise.  Hedwig had been circling the grounds of Bones Manor, keeping a watchful and curious eye on her wizard as he practiced.

They turned in time to see her dive precipitously to the ground, then lift off with what appeared to be a struggling mole grasped in her talons.  She rose quickly toward a nearby tree, when suddenly her catch transformed into the figure of a man.  With a startled shout he fell thirty feet to the ground, where he landed with a thud and did not move.

“What the hell?!” yelled Savage.  “That’s just outside the wards.”

“Potter, get back to the house,” Proudfoot said quickly, drawing his wand.  “This could be some sort of trap.”

Harry, having recently been caught in a trap, choked down an indignant response and retreated slowly toward Bones Manor.  He would stand at the front door to watch what was happening.

Two other Aurors had come running at the sound of Hedwig’s screech, and they gathered around Proudfoot and Savage as the two stared outside the wards at the downed man.  He was over fifty yards away from them, and no one wanted to leave the wards to investigate.

“Everybody spread out,” barked Proudfoot, who shot a stunner at the man’s unmoving form just in case.  “I’m going to levitate him inside the wards; cast a shield and be ready for anything.”

The others did as he commanded, and slowly the battered form of Peter Pettigrew made its way toward the small group.  He was wearing non-descript black robes, and there was nothing on him to identify him as a Death Eater.

Harry, however, standing now on the front steps of Bones Manor, could see Pettigrew’s silver hand glistening in the sunlight.  A wave of revulsion and hatred overcame him.  He didn’t know the wizard’s identity, but he did know that this was Cedric Diggory’s murderer.

Proudfoot set Pettigrew down on the grass, and the Aurors formed a wary semi-circle around him.  Hedwig circled slowly above them, barking her approval.

Everyone examined the man’s bleeding face closely, but none could place him.

“Who the hell is this guy?” Savage wondered aloud.

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A/N: Voila.  Life is never dull at Bones Manor.  Next chapter, there’s an excursion to Gringotts, the war heats up, and Harry meets Wormtail for the first time.

Thanks to Nukular Winter, Perspicacity, Vikingfn0926, and Voice of the Nephilim for their feedback on this chapter.

I recently posted a oneshot called “Voldemort, My Pet Inferius.”  It’s a post-HBP humor fic that I found amusing to write, so be sure to check it out.  Just don’t forget to review here first :)