The Potter Conspiracy
A/N: Thanks to all those who have read and reviewed. Feedback is greatly appreciated!
Disclaimer: Not mine. It all belongs to JKR.
Chapter Twenty-Two – Clearing the Air
October 23rd, 1995 – Bones Manor; Harry’s Room
“Harry, this is the ugliest dress I’ve ever seen. Your ancestors had terrible taste in fashion,” Parvati mused, holding up a brown muslin gown with frilly lace bedecking the arms.
Harry looked up from his position on the floor and smirked. “Hey, don’t blame me; I wasn’t part of the family 300 years ago.”
Parvati pushed the dress to the side and picked up another garment from the overflowing trunk. She was going through the trunks Harry had recovered from the Potter vaults several weeks ago while he examined the spoils of their most recent raid.
“Look at this,” said Harry, removing a single document from the pile of parchment that accompanied his two trunks full of galleons. Parvati moved behind him to get a better view; she leaned in so closely to his shoulder that Harry could feel her breath on the back of his neck. He shivered involuntarily.
“Is that what I think it is?” she asked curiously.
“I can’t believe it,” Harry replied in astonishment. “I’ve never seen this before.”
“The Last Will and Testament of Harry James Potter,” said Parvati, reading aloud over his shoulder. “Merlin…what does it say?”
Harry glanced quickly over the document, noting that it was signed with blood in a remarkable approximation of his signature. When he was finished, he started chortling, and then couldn’t restrain himself from laughing outright.
“What?” asked Parvati impatiently.
“Here,” Harry said between gasps, “Just read it.” He turned and passed it to her.
“It is my most profound regret that I never had the opportunity to marry my one true love, Ginny Weasley. My most cherished memories are the times I spent together with her. I owe the Weasley family more than I can ever repay, and I humbly ask that they accept my gift of 500,000 galleons and remember me fondly,” Parvati read aloud.
She looked at Harry incredulously.
“Just keep reading; it gets better,” Harry snorted, trying to regain his composure.
“The remainder of my family wealth I leave to Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. He has been my mentor since I entered the magical world, and I am forever grateful for his generosity to me. I hope that this money can begin to repay the kindness he has shown me and enable him to continue his efforts against the forces of darkness in our world.”
Parvati trailed off as she finished reading, staring at the document in shock. Then she too burst out laughing.
“The nerve of that old man!” she hooted. “He’s insane!”
Harry shook his head at the absurdity of it all. “I guess that’s why they were feeding me love potions. They wanted me to have a good reason to make the Weasleys rich when I died. I wonder when all this started,” he mused, the thought bringing an end to his laughter.
“You’re not angry?” Parvati asked, watching him curiously.
Harry shrugged. “Not really. I already know what a bastard Dumbledore is; this is just more evidence. It’s funny, really, how far he went to stage my death.”
Parvati shivered. “I don’t think I’d be able to laugh about it. He just…I really think he’d do anything, Harry. When he was in my mind, I could feel him…he was…cold, I guess. I hate him.”
“He won’t be able to touch you here,” Harry said lowly, turning and meeting Parvati’s eyes. “And he’ll get what’s coming to him; I promise.”
Parvati didn’t respond to Harry’s reassurances, but she did hold his gaze. They had not yet spoken about what was happening between them, but it was clear even to Harry that an unspoken bond had already formed.
“Thank you for getting me out of there, Harry,” she said softly.
“You’re welcome, Parvati,” Harry returned just as softly, willing himself to continue meeting her dark eyes. “I just…I’m sorry it came to this. I didn’t want you to put yourself in danger to help me. If he had done something to you…”
“Stop apologizing, Harry,” Parvati smiled, placing her hand on Harry’s cheek and causing him to blush. “It’s okay. You didn’t force me to do anything—I wanted to. I didn’t really know what I was getting myself into, but it’s worked out so far hasn’t it? I told you my divination skills were top-notch.”
Harry smiled wanly, a little disappointed when Parvati’s hand returned to her side. “I don’t know about ‘working out.’ Things are looking pretty bloody bleak to me. Voldemort’s practically in control of the wizarding world.”
Parvati shuddered at Harry’s casual use of the Dark Lord’s name, but did not break eye contact with him. Neither, it seemed, wanted to be the first to look away. “Well, it seems like everyone here is bent on fighting him, and I’ll help you however I can, Harry.”
“Thank you,” he replied sincerely, wondering how long he could continue to stare into her eyes without being awkward.
Their moment was interrupted by a light knock on the open door. Hermione and Susan stood hesitantly at the entrance to the room, looking curiously at the pair.
“Hi Harry,” said Hermione sheepishly. “I was, erm, hoping that I could speak with you alone. Susan said she would hang out with Parvati while we talk.”
Harry looked intently at Hermione for a few seconds, then sighed. “Alright,” he groaned, getting to his feet. “Let’s go to the library then.”
Hermione nodded and stood aside as Harry led her outside the room. Susan stayed behind to keep Parvati company. The red-haired girl seemed more willing to come out of her room now that there were other teenage witches in the house. Harry had explained several times that he felt no resentment toward her, but he was certain that Susan still felt guilty about her role in his abduction.
Leading her to the library and closing the door behind them, Harry seated himself in his favorite chair and waited for Hermione to compose herself. She remained standing at first.
“You may as well sit, Hermione,” said Harry evenly. “I’ve already yelled at you, and I’m tired of talking about this. It just makes me angry.”
Hermione did as he suggested, barely meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry, Harry,” she said miserably. “I know you’re tired of hearing it, but I don’t know what else to say.”
Harry merely nodded in return. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I just wanted to say…that I’m sorry about getting Parvati caught. The Headmaster said that…that he had ordered a house elf to watch me when I started behaving, er, erratically. That’s how he discovered Parvati. I promise—I’ll swear another oath, if you want me to—that I had no idea he was keeping tabs on me.”
Harry put up his hand to stop her. “It’s alright, Hermione; it worked out in the end, I guess. And you don’t need to make another oath. The ones you gave Madam Bones should cover everything you say and do while you’re here. Although I don’t understand how your oaths to me and Madam Bones don’t conflict with the ones you made to Dumbledore.”
Hermione shook her head. “They don’t conflict. I only gave him a vow of secrecy. I couldn’t talk about what I knew, but I never promised that I wouldn’t betray him. I think…I think he believed I would do the ‘right thing’ of my own accord,” she finished, grimacing.
Harry snorted. “Well, that’s something at least.”
“Madam Bones said she would try to convince the Headmaster to release me from my oaths, so I could talk openly to you,” Hermione said meekly.
When Harry didn’t respond, she continued. “I know you don’t want me here, Harry, and that you hate me now. I don’t blame you. Just…just know that I’ll do everything in my power to make it up to you, even if it takes me the rest of my life,” she said despondently, her eyes filling with tears.
Harry sighed deeply. Crying girls had always flustered him, but it was worse when the tears came from Hermione. Seeing her cry evoked in him a primal need to protect her; it irritated him beyond words to feel such a thing for the girl who betrayed him.
“Hermione…just, please stop crying and apologizing. I can’t deal with it,” he said, trying to put his feelings into words.
“Let’s just pretend you’re here as a guest, alright? I’ve got other important things to be doing, so there’s no need for our paths to cross. I don’t hate you, I just…I think we should avoid each other while you’re here.”
Hermione nodded and wiped away her tears with her fingers. “I…I will have to accept that, I suppose. But I want you to know, Harry, that…that I want to be your friend again more than anything else in the world. You’ve been my only true friend, even if I was a terrible friend to you.”
Harry sighed again in irritation. Hermione refused to stop apologizing, and her submission to him left him feeling conflicted. He resented her excuses, but was moved despite himself by her obvious sincerity. The broken girl before him barely resembled the bossy swot that he had grown up with at Hogwarts.
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Hermione,” he said gently. “Can we please just stop talking about this? I’ve got too many other things to worry about, and so do you if you want to help fight Dumbledore and Voldemort. Just ask Madam Bones and Unspeakable Croaker how you can help, and stay out of my way. Please, Hermione? I need to focus on my training.”
Hermione nodded miserably, knowing this was the best she could get from Harry for the time being. It was clear that he would not respond well to her trying to force her way back into his life.
She stayed in the library and stared at all the books long after Harry had returned to his room.
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October 23rd, 1995 – Hogwarts Castle; Headmaster’s Office
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles to the north, Albus Dumbledore picked glumly through what was left of his office. Most of what remained was a charred ruin, consumed by Fawkes’ parting gift to him. Only a few heavily-charmed books and artifacts had been able to withstand the phoenix fire.
He picked up the charred remains of an irreplaceable book on the origins of arithmancy and tossed it aside in disgust. Not even magic could salvage such damage. The Sword of Gryffindor gleamed brilliantly on the wall, its wholeness seeming to mock him.
The sheer magnitude of this new disaster left Dumbledore in shock. Despite Fawkes’ interference in his plans for Harry, he never expected his familiar to be capable of such destruction.
Not for the first time, he wondered whether Fawkes had ever truly belonged to him. It was not lost on him that the phoenix had appeared in his life at roughly the same time that James and Lily had begun dating. Was that a sign of some sort? Did it mean that Fawkes had been here for Harry’s protection all along?
Whatever the answer, Dumbledore refused to believe that he had a mistake in his approach to the prophecy. The way forward had been, and still was, clear to him. But now circumstances had altered dramatically. He was no longer in control of the wizarding world’s fate, and even his most loyal faculty members were rebelling against him.
He knew that his expertise and power would be needed to resolve the present crisis, but his tactics had alienated virtually everyone on his side. Now he was unsure how to proceed. Fawkes had ruined what was likely his last chance to get his hands on Harry, and he was certain that Amelia wanted to remove his head from his shoulders. Unless he tried to convert the Order into a small army, a virtually hopeless task, his only choice now was to cooperate with her.
Humbling himself before other people was not something he did well.
Dumbledore gave his office one last look and made his way to the charred doorway that led to his private quarters. He winced as the remains of delicate silvery instruments crunched under his feet. The smell of burnt parchment in the room was overpowering.
His private quarters were in little better condition than his office. His bed, clothes, and other personal effects had been completely destroyed in the fire. The sole untouched object stood conspicuously in the corner of the room. A triangular corner dresser, which was actually a magical safe of sorts, had managed to withstand the heat. For that small blessing Dumbledore was grateful.
His safe contained his most precious personal possessions, save for the picture of Ariana, which he kept on his person at all times. He ran his hands admiringly along the polished obsidian of the safe; it was a truly remarkable artifact to have withstood so fierce a conflagration. Opening the top drawer gingerly, Dumbledore withdrew a rectangular wooden box that was decorated with scenes of battle in mother-of-pearl. He opened it and looked reverently at the golden lock of hair within.
He often thought of this lock as his most treasured possession, and he wasn’t sure if he could bear losing it. Though it now contained far fewer hairs than it once had, it still represented everything that he had won and lost in his long life.
The lock of hair belonged to Gellert Grindelwald, and Dumbledore could not look at it without reflecting bittersweetly.
He could see Gellert whenever he wanted, of course, but the golden locks in the box never failed to recall the man in his glorious youth, the man whom Dumbledore had admired and coveted above all others.
Now, with the walls closing in on him, he felt he would give almost anything to return to those carefree days of his youth, when he and Gellert had plotted to force the wizarding world into a more enlightened age. So much had gone wrong so quickly, and he still sometimes felt as if he were living in a nightmare that was almost a century old.
Hearing the sound of crunching debris from his office, Dumbledore hurriedly replaced the lock of hair and returned the box to its resting place. He surreptitiously drew his wand, wary of everything now, but relaxed somewhat when Minerva McGonagall peered around the blackened doorframe.
The two regarded each other tensely for a moment.
“Can I help you, Minerva?” asked Dumbledore coldly.
“That remains to be seen,” replied McGonagall in an equally icy tone. “There are people downstairs—members of your Order, I believe—who are demanding your presence. It seems they want to know where you are and what is happening, just like the rest of us.”
Dumbledore’s jaw clenched at McGonagall’s tenor, but he withheld the biting sarcasm on his lips. “Tell them I shall call a meeting later. I have…other things to attend to.”
McGonagall raised a single eyebrow and regarded her boss carefully. “If you wish to lead people against Voldemort, I believe it is time for you to start doing so. Admitting myself and Filius to your group is a good place to start. We want to help defeat the Dark Lord too, Albus, and it’s high time someone started giving you good advice.”
Dumbledore resisted the urge to dismiss his Deputy Headmistress harshly, settling for turning his back on her.
“I shall consider it, Minerva. Now leave me be,” he said, continuing his examination of the destroyed room.
McGonagall watched him for a few seconds, wondering what had happened to the man she had revered for so long, then turned and left.
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Bones Manor; Front Lawn
“Alright, Potter,” said Proudfoot, “it’s time for your crash course to continue. Have a seat.”
Harry sat down in a conjured chair on the front lawn, listening attentively. Proudfoot had thanked him tersely for saving his life during the Gringotts raid, but Harry did not waste time congratulating himself. The news that Croaker had just given him outweighed any sense of accomplishment he felt.
It was official now. There was nothing unusual about his magic.
The battery of tests that Silas Bungard had performed on him had not revealed anything unusual. Harry was very powerful, especially for his age, but his magic itself seemed to work just like everyone else’s. He appeared to possess no special “powers,” at least nothing that qualified as a power that “the Dark Lord knows not.”
Though he had expected this result, Harry nevertheless couldn’t mask his disappointment. Croaker too had seemed mildly let down, despite his avowed skepticism. Things would be so much easier for all of them if Harry were adept at some obscure branch of magic. It was not to be.
There was nothing for it but to resume his normal training, and Harry resolved to approach it with renewed vigor. If there was nothing unusual about his magic, he was determined to ensure that his fighting skills were as formidable as he could make them.
Tonks and Savage were performing reconnaissance for the upcoming raid on the wizarding wireless headquarters, so Harry’s training fell to Proudfoot today.
“You’ve got a good understanding of the basic offensive and defensive spells already, Potter,” began Proudfoot, “and I don’t really see the point in teaching you dozens of obscure spells. You’ll never be able to overcome an experienced fighter with your finesse or knowledge. Your strength is overwhelming brute force, and we’re going to play to that.”
Harry nodded, still a little miffed that Proudfoot had rejected the spells in his personal grimoire so disdainfully. He sometimes practiced the fire whip spell in secret, hoping to make the Auror eat his words one day.
“It’s time for you to master spell-chaining,” Proudfoot continued. “Then we need to make sure you learn some basic battlefield healing. Director Bones wants you folded into one of our response teams to get some experience. That means you better focus on your training and not on those girls in the house. If you’re thinking about some girl’s knickers when you’re out there, you’re going to get someone killed.”
Harry flushed a little at Proudfoot’s attitude, but he bit back his first response. “I’ll do my part,” he said tersely. “You just worry about telling me how.”
Proudfoot smirked at him. “You better, Potter. Some people are going to throw a fit when they realize you’re the one guarding their back. Ordinarily I would too, but not after what you did at Gringotts.”
“Er, thanks, I think,” Harry replied, unsure how to respond to Proudfoot’s brusque demeanor. The tall blond Auror was far more forbidding than Tonks or Savage. “The spell-chaining, then?”
“Right,” said Proudfoot, getting to his feet. “The technique is simple to understand, but difficult to put into practice. It takes absolute focus and considerable dexterity to pull it off in the middle of a fight. Spell-chaining is an effective offensive weapon, and I suspect it could be quite devastating in your hands.”
“It works just like it sounds,” he continued. “The idea is to finish the wand movements of one spell while simultaneously beginning those of another. Obviously that only works for certain combinations of spells. Once you master it, it will seem like a constant flow of spells is erupting from your wand.”
Harry nodded eagerly, wanting to have as many weapons as possible at his disposal.
Proudfoot watched him carefully, wary of any youthful enthusiasm. “The technique does have one weakness, though. Do you know what that is?”
Harry thought for a moment, but could not come up with anything. The concept was relatively new to him, and he could not remember the mention of any weaknesses in his reading on the subject.
“Maybe something to do with the amount of magic it uses?” Harry asked cautiously.
Proudfoot hesitated in his response. “Well, for someone of your natural power, that won’t be an issue. Not unless you’re in a fight that lasts for hours. No, the true weakness of the technique is that it undermines your defensive spells.”
“How so?”
“Well, if an opponent manages to block or get around your barrage and casts a spell at you, you have no choice but to dodge or raise a shield. The latter is difficult because you have to interrupt your casting and start a whole new wand movement. That half-second delay can be fatal.”
“I see,” said Harry. “So you don’t want to spell chain in a big fight with multiple opponents. Only when it’s more of a one-on-one fight.”
Proudfoot raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s exactly right, Potter. You’re not as stupid as you look. In big fights it’s better to use short bursts and keep your wits about you, constantly monitoring the situation.”
“Got it,” said Harry. “Let’s do it then.”
Proudfoot demonstrated the technique for Harry slowly, showing him a combination of blaster-cutter-blaster that was common in violent fights.
“That’s all there is to it, Potter. I want you to practice casting at the far target. When you get the hang of it, I’ll start casting an occasional stunner your way.”
For the next hour, Proudfoot watched as Harry slowly became adept at spell-chaining. The quick movements came naturally to him, but Harry found it difficult to maintain the focus that the technique required. It forced him to shut out all other stimuli. He succeeded admirably at blasting single targets, but found the technique considerably harder when Proudfoot began attacking him.
At the end of the hour, Harry was panting slightly from dodging Proudfoot’s spells and trying to concentrate. He was relieved when Proudfoot finally called an end to things.
“Alright, Potter, that’s enough target practice for now. I want you to rest for a few minutes, and then we’re going to see how you do against multiple opponents,” he grinned, a malicious glint in his eye.
Harry noticed it, and swallowed heavily. Proudfoot seemed to enjoy trying to humiliate him when the opportunity arose.
After several minutes of rest, Proudfoot rose and looked toward the Manor. Harry followed his eyes, and sighed mentally as Susan, Hermione, and Parvati walked towards them.
“You have got to be joking. I thought they weren’t going to be part of the training.”
Proudfoot smirked at him. “They won’t be doing the same training, Potter; I never said they wouldn’t be part of your training. They’re going to throw stunners at you from disillusioned positions as you try to hit a moving target that I control with my wand. You’re going to grow eyes in the back of your head.”
“Shite,” Harry muttered. He felt suddenly nervous to perform well in front of Parvati, and he wasn’t sure he liked the idea of a disillusioned Hermione casting spells at him.
“Girls,” he grimaced as they approached, “Don’t go too hard on me, alright?”
“Don’t listen to the boy,” Proudfoot smiled, crossing his arms. “Ladies, do your damndest to knock him out, or he’ll regret it later. If you can hit him with a stunner today, it will help him avoid a blaster tomorrow.”
“Why do I have a feeling this isn’t going to be a fair fight?” Harry grumbled.
“Because you’re a seer, Potter,” Proudfoot shot back. “You see this orb?” he said, gesturing at a glowing blue orb the size of a football. “I’ll be controlling it with my wand, moving it around like an opponent, and your task is to hit it with as many spells as you can, using only the spell-chaining method. Understood?”
“Yes.”
Proudfoot smiled and walked over to the assembled girls, where he leaned down and pulled them into a huddle. Harry watched them closely, but he couldn’t tell what was being said. Parvati glanced at him once from within the huddle and winked, and Harry wasn’t sure if he liked that or not.
Proudfoot ended the meeting by tapping each of the girls on the head with his wand, disillusioning them and sending them off to their respective positions. “Alright, Potter, you can use a shield if you can cast one in time, but try to rely on quickness and dodging. Remember that you’re supposed to be focused on your attack. Your defense needs to become instinctive. Go!”
Harry groaned mentally as three stunners sped toward him, forcing him to drop awkwardly toward the ground. He hated this exercise already.
For the next hour Harry dodged in and out of attack positions like a whirling dervish. Proudfoot’s floating orb was fiendishly hard to hit even when sitting still, and the man was sadistic in his control of its movements. For the first half-hour Harry failed to hit it at all. He was brought down by stunners four times, the last one coming from Parvati. He was treated to an amused smile as she leaned over to enervate him. It was not his proudest moment, and he vowed that Proudfoot would soon discover products from the Weasley twins in his food. Contacting them had just become a bigger priority.
The second half-hour proved far different. Harry slowly developed a sense for when spells were about to be cast at him, and the girls succeeded in bringing him down only once. More importantly, he managed to hit the dancing blue orb on at least five different occasions. He was justifiably proud when the exercise finally ended.
“Not bad, Potter,” reflected Proudfoot as the entire group sat down on conjured chairs to cool down. House elves brought each of them glasses of water. “You’re going to be doing something similar to that every day.”
“Bring it on,” Harry smiled, flush with pride at having mastered the task. He felt like he could do that all day long. It was an immensely difficult exercise, but it wasn’t magically exhausting. The mental focus, on the other hand, required enormous amounts of energy.
“Don’t get cocky,” Proudfoot admonished. “Wait until we do live fire team exercises. You won’t be saying ‘bring it on’ then,” he smirked.
Harry’s retort was interrupted by a shout from the front doors of the Manor. They all turned to see Madam Bones raising her wand to her throat to amplify her voice.
“Auror Proudfoot, we have a situation. You are needed immediately. And bring Mr. Potter along as well,” she added in an afterthought.
Proudfoot immediately stood and began jogging toward the Manor. He yelled for Harry without even turning around.
“You coming or not, Potter?”
Harry shook himself out of his reverie and ran to catch up to Proudfoot, leaving three worried girls in his wake.
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Hogwarts; Room of Requirement
Albus Dumbledore surveyed the members of his Order solemnly as they gathered and took seats in the Come-and-Go Room. It still astonished him that he had not known of the room’s existence for so many years. Only his recent interrogation of Hermione Granger and Parvati Patil had confirmed his suspicions of the room’s utility.
The mood in the room was somber even though the meeting had not yet begun. The members of the Order were aware of the increasingly dire situation outside the castle’s walls, and it was not lost on them that their numbers seemed to be shrinking rapidly. Snape and Arthur Weasley were dead, Moody had been maimed, and Tonks was missing. Dumbledore knew that she was at Bones Manor, but he didn’t want the entire group to know just how much animosity currently existed between him and Amelia.
A few of the older members greeted McGonagall and Flitwick warmly. Dumbledore hoped desperately that his decision to admit them as official members would not backfire. Filius was loyal and a capable duelist, but Minerva’s recent recalcitrance did not bode well for the future.
The group that seated itself around a large oval table now consisted of only 34 members. Of those, less than a dozen could be considered dangerous in a magical fight. Aside from Dumbledore himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Remus Lupin, Filius Flitwick, and Bill Weasley were the best fighters in the room. The remaining members were useful for gathering intelligence or performing simple guard duty, but Dumbledore was keenly aware that the Order was far from an effective army. Molly Weasley could do little more than cook.
Dumbledore finally rose from his seat and cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentleman, thank you for joining me this afternoon. I must apologize for not meeting with you sooner, but as you know I was forced to deal with an emergency in my office.”
There were murmurs among the group, most of whom were aware that Dumbledore’s own phoenix had torched his office and left him. It did nothing for their confidence in him.
“I know you are all wondering what is happening outside these walls, and thanks to one of my contacts who remains at the Ministry, I have some answers for you. In short, it appears that Lucius Malfoy, and thus Voldemort, is in control of the Ministry. The Wizengamot, alas, is not in a position to challenge his authority.”
There were murmurs of dismay from the group. Almost everyone already suspected this, but for their leader to confirm it so baldly was disheartening. Dumbledore held up his hand to forestall questions.
“I know that the situation looks grim, and it is. But all is not lost. Amelia Bones escaped to a safe house with 31 of her Aurors, leaving the Ministry with only 32 of its original force. She was able to destroy most of the DMLE’s records on magical families before she was removed from her position. Likewise, Algernon Croaker removed the most precious artifacts from the Department of Mysteries and took half of his staff with him. They are both preparing to resist the Ministry and the Dark Lord.”
Several people looked heartened at this and raised a hand to speak, but Dumbledore waved them off.
“However,” he continued, “it is now clear that Malfoy has supplemented the traditional Aurors with forces loyal only to him. We do not know how many they number, but all indications are at least 60. Since the loss of Severus, I do not know if the Dark Lord has successfully recruited more Death Eaters.”
“Well, when do we start fighting back, Albus? The Dark Lord is running roughshod over our country!” shouted Amos Diggory, his impatience finally overcoming him, and several people pounded the table in agreement.
“I…” Dumbledore hesitated, knowing he didn’t have a good answer to that question. He had never planned for such a dire scenario. “I must confer with Madam Bones about any future operations, I’m afraid. For the moment, we must remain vigilant in our defense. Many people will seek asylum at Hogwarts soon, and it is imperative that we do not allow spies or assassins among us. Every new entrant to the castle must be questioned with veritaserum, so I will require a small team of you to deal with that situation.”
“What about that Umbridge woman?” asked Emmeline Vance warily. “Doesn’t she count as a spy?”
“Madam Umbridge has returned to the Ministry and will not be allowed back in the castle,” Dumbledore replied, and there was more than one sigh of relief in the group. Several people began talking, and Dumbledore finally cleared his throat to regain control.
“It is also necessary for us to maintain a presence in Hogsmeade, as I suspect the Dark Lord will soon make an effort to control it. It is vital that we prevent the sacking of Hogsmeade. To that end, Kingsley will be providing some brief training those of you who wish to hone your fighting skills. When we are ready, there will be a 24-hour guard present in Hogsmeade.”
When no on else interrupted him, Dumbledore finished his address. “I’m afraid there is more potentially ominous news. Rubeus has returned from Northern Europe,” he said, gesturing to the massive form of Hagrid. The half-giant was currently sitting quietly, dumbfounded at the radical changes that had taken place in his absence.
“The giants did not accept our entreaties to remain neutral, so we must be prepared for the presence in Britain once again. The wards of the castle will deter them, but outside of Hogwarts they will be free to wreak havoc, should they appear. More importantly, there is a full moon in a few days,” he added, and the room grew silent, more than one person glancing surreptitiously at Remus Lupin.
“I shall have to coordinate with Amelia, but be aware that your fighting skills may be required against a werewolf attack at that time,” he said, looking sternly at Lupin as he spoke. Lupin refused to meet his eyes.
“And what about Harry Potter?” asked McGonagall, unwilling to let the subject go. “Why isn’t he in the castle?”
Dumbledore sighed and looked at his deputy in exasperation. “Mr. Potter and I have not seen eye-to-eye on how best to oppose Voldemort. He is currently in the custody of Madam Bones. That is all I will say on that matter.”
“You said you had a contact at the Ministry, Albus” wheezed Elphias Doge, “what about the rest of the people there? Surely they can’t all be supporting the Dark Lord!”
“There is much confusion at the Ministry, Elphias,” Dumbledore replied calmly. “Many people have resigned their positions or fled, and the remaining employees are being forced to take oaths of loyalty to the Ministry and its agenda. We can only hope that more and more people see the truth and make their way here.”
The murmurs of discontent among the Order stopped abruptly when a house elf wearing the insignia of the Bones family popped directly into the room. The elf quivered in the presence of so many wizards, but he bowed before Dumbledore and handed him a folded parchment.
“An important message from my mistress,” the elf said squeakily, and then popped away.
Dumbledore checked the parchment for traps and then opened it warily. His eyes scanned its contents quickly, his face hardening. He turned to address the rest of the room.
“Madam Bones has learned of an imminent Ministry raid on St. Mungo’s. It appears that the Ministry plans to seize the hospital and detain those patients and healers that they consider disloyal. She is organizing a rescue operation as we speak, but is unable to care for those being rescued. They will be portkeyed just outside our wards, so we must move quickly and prepare for incoming wounded and guests.”
The room erupted in a flurry of activity as everyone stood and started talking at once. Dumbledore called for silence and began to organize the members into teams to safeguard those who would soon join them at Hogwarts.
He did not mention Madam Bones’ hasty postscript in her message, which assured him that she would soon demand a meeting to discuss his past transgressions and future role in the war. There were some things that were best kept secret.
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Hogwarts; just outside the Room of Requirement
As the meeting of the Order broke up and its members filed out the open door, they passed by a small group of redheads waiting in the outside corridor. Fred, George, and Ginny Weasley ignored the people who passed by, intent on confronting another trio of redheads.
Charlie, Bill, and Molly Weasley exited the room nearly last, the boys leading their mother out. She seemed almost robotic in her movements, and had not spoken at all during the Order meeting. Bill met Fred’s eyes and he sighed in exhaustion.
“This is happening right now, Bill, whether you like it or not,” Fred spat. “You kept us out of the Order meeting, even though we’re of age, and we’re not waiting any longer to hear what mum has to say.”
Bill glanced uneasily at Molly, who was holding on to his arm and looking blankly at Fred. He had prevented the twins from questioning her about Harry’s accusations right away. She was already so distraught over Arthur’s death and Percy’s absence that Bill felt it cruel to press her. So Ginny and the twins had isolated themselves from the rest of the family, preferring not to speak to anyone until they could get some answers. Their patience was now at an end.
“Fine,” said Bill, glancing again at his mother. Despite standing up for her to the twins, he too wanted some answers. “Let’s go back in the room.”
The Weasleys waited for Dumbledore and then Moody to stump awkwardly out of the room, then reoccupied it. Dumbledore watched them pass without comment. The group seated themselves at the end of the oval table.
“Well,” said George, holding Ginny’s hand underneath the table, “what the bloody hell is going on?”
“We’re all sorry about dad, mum, but it’s time to come clean,” added Fred. “Ron knows something, but he swears he can’t talk about it. We want to know why Harry is accusing us of trying to kill him, and we want to join the Order and help in the fight. We’re of age, and that’s that.”
Molly visibly crumpled in her seat and closed her eyes. The voice that came from her was without inflection.
“There is a prophecy,” she said. “I haven’t heard it, but Professor Dumbledore told me it requires Harry to die for us to be able to defeat You-Know-Who again.”
Ginny drew in a sharp breath, and Fred and George looked at each other grimly. Bill and Charlie did the same, both suspecting where this was going.
“Harry found out about it somehow and ran away,” Molly continued dully. “That’s why he’s angry with us.”
“Bollocks,” said George angrily, startling everyone. “That’s a load of rubbish if ever I’ve heard it. How can you believe such a story? And what does it have to do with our family? What did you do?”
“I….” said Molly, then hesitated. “I just made certain that Harry felt at home when he was with us. That’s all.”
“You’re lying,” George responded bitterly, and Bill stared at him in astonishment. “Where does Ron come in? Was he feeding Harry love potions keyed to Ginny?”
Molly didn’t reply, holding her head in her hands and murmuring Arthur’s name.
“Answer the bloody question, mum,” Fred said threateningly, earning a glare from Bill.
“Ronald…helped keep Harry safe while he was here at school—until it was time for him to do his duty,” she finally responded. “And the potions…”
“Yes?” said Ginny, learning forward and looking at her mother attentively.
“I never meant to hurt you, dear,” Molly said gently, meeting her daughter’s eyes. “Never hurt you. It was just…our family had already risked so much for Harry Potter, and he would soon be…gone. I felt that we had earned the right to a small share of what he would be leaving behind.”
Ginny’s face cycled through several colors before finally settling on a livid red. “So you fed him love potions to like me? You used me to steal Harry’s money?! How could you do that to me?”
“No,” Molly whispered. “Not steal, dear. We had earned a right to that money. The potions weren’t meant to hurt you. They were just for…for appearances. And to give you some happiness with Harry before he was gone.”
“Bloody fucking hell,” said Fred incredulously. “I can’t believe my ears. Did dad know about this?”
Molly shook her head disconsolately, and the rest of the Weasleys just looked at each other in astonishment at this new revelation.
“Fuck this,” said George, standing and pulling Ginny up with him. “This family has disgraced itself, and I want no part of it or of Dumbledore’s bloody Order. We’re going to get in touch with Harry and find out how to help him.”
Fred joined them, and the trio stalked angrily out the door. Charlie and Bill remained seated, looking at each other and glancing uneasily at their mother. They too were stunned at the deviousness of the plot against Harry, but were not ready to abandon their mother in her grief.
Molly put her head in her hands again and wept, stunned at the changes in her life and the reproaches of her children. Her attempt to safeguard the family was tearing it apart.
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St. Mungo’s Hospital; just outside the main entrance
“Alright, Potter,” Proudfoot whispered. “Remember: stunners only until we secure the lobby, then only use lethal force if it’s necessary. Stay under your bloody cloak at all times.”
“Got it,” Harry replied, excited to be a part of the upcoming mission. He and 14 other people, including Tonks, Savage, and Proudfoot, were gathered outside the main entrance to St. Mungo’s, ready to rescue those people who were in danger from the Ministry. All signs pointed to an imminent Ministry raid, so it was imperative that they move quickly.
They knew that the Ministry controlled the lobby apparition point, so they had no choice but to enter through the main doors. The entire group had been disillusioned, save Harry, who was both disillusioned and underneath his invisibility cloak.
Harry’s role was to aid the group in taking out the Ministry Aurors guarding the lobby, then remain behind as small groups moved throughout the hospital to remove patients, healers, and administrators. He, Proudfoot, and another Auror named Blankenship were to remain in the lobby and ambush any response from the Ministry while the other teams performed their duty. Time was of the essence, as everything had to happen before the Ministry could erect anti-portkey wards.
“Go,” whispered Proudfoot, and the groups moved quickly through the main doors of St. Mungo’s. There were five or six civilians in the lobby waiting area, along with two female administrators. They looked up when the main doors opened and no one appeared to enter.
Four Ministry Aurors were scattered around the room, lazily surrounding the apparition point. Not expecting a frontal assault, they were taken completely by surprise as Harry’s group entered the hospital. Dozens of stunners arced toward them, and the Aurors barely had time to raise their wands before they were overwhelmed and collapsed to the floor.
“Hurry!” Proudfoot barked, and eleven people sprinted through the hospital corridors, intent on retrieving specific individuals. Thanks to Madam Bones’ contact in the hospital, who had alerted her that the Ministry was there demanding patient rosters, they knew precisely where to go. The goal was not to evacuate the entire hospital, only to rescue those people who were most likely to be detained by the Ministry and the Dark Lord.
“Civilians, find somewhere else to be! Now!” Proudfoot barked, and the people inhabiting the lobby practically fell over themselves trying to make it to the elevators. Proudfoot, Blankenship, and Harry spread out, still disillusioned.
Harry knelt on one side of the main entrance, giving him a clear view of both the open doors and the apparition point in the lobby. He could hear shouts of surprise coming from elsewhere in the hospital, but so far there had been no movement in the lobby.
A sudden explosion echoed down the main corridor leading away from the lobby, and Harry grimaced at the sound of several people screaming. Apparently the Ministry had operatives elsewhere in the hospital. A wailing siren followed the explosion, and Harry heard Proudfoot curse on the other side of the room.
“Someone will be coming for certain now, Potter. Stay alert.”
Another minute passed as Harry, Proudfoot, and Blankenship waited anxiously for a response from the Ministry.
“What’s taking our teams so long?” Harry whispered across the lobby to Proudfoot.
“Don’t know,” whispered Proudfoot, “but we’re holding the lobby until we get the all-clear.”
A muffled explosion sounded in the distance, and more shouts echoed through the corridors. Whatever was happening elsewhere in the hospital, it clearly wasn’t going as smoothly as hoped.
Harry tensed as an ugly yellow spell flew through the open main doors next to him and exploded against a back wall. Black, toxic smoke suddenly poured from the crater and began to fill the room.
“Bubbleheads!” shouted Proudfoot, and Harry hurried to cast the spell over himself. It wasn’t a spell he practiced regularly, and he was relieved when it enveloped him protectively from the expanding black smoke. The smoke had reduced his visibility to nothing almost instantly, obscuring the entirety of the lobby.
There were sudden shouts from the main doors, and Harry could hear the stomps of several pairs of boots as they entered the lobby at a run. The apparition point popped with the sounds of half-a-dozen Aurors apparating into the smoke. Harry knew this was about to get messy.
Uncertain what to do with no visibility, Harry began casting a continuous stream of stunners toward the lobby apparition point. He didn’t want to risk casting lethal spells when he couldn’t see his invisible comrades. He was gratified when a shield sprang into existence through the haze, but he could not tell if his other spells had landed. The noise around him was suddenly deafening as spells erupted from everywhere.
Four spells of varying colors screamed through the darkness at him, and Harry dodged quickly to his right and knelt. His invisibility was practically useless when his opponents could see the spells from his wand. A blasting curse from where Proudfoot was supposed to be exploded loudly near the apparition point, so Harry decided it was okay to follow suit.
He unleashed a torrent of confringo blasters, desperately hoping that neither Proudfoot nor Blankenship were in his path. The thoroughness of the smoke surrounding him was causing him to panic slightly. His spells impacted in a deafening explosion, and the whole floor seemed to rock beneath him. It felt like he had accidentally brought part of the ceiling down.
He heard two people screaming in the darkness, but could not tell who they were. He felt alone, adrift in a sea of black smoke.
He moved again to his right to confuse any attackers, but no one fired on him. He heard fighting around him, but could not tell who was who. The lights of spells reflected confusingly off the smoke. He chanced a few stunners in the direction of the main doors, desperately hoping that the signal for retreat would come soon.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a galleon tied to Harry’s forearm vibrated silently, and he grabbed it and spoke the activation phrase. The sudden pull behind his abdomen came as an immeasurable relief.
He rematerialized onto the Bones Manor lawn to find a state of panic and chaos. He was beginning to wonder if all raids ended in so much disorder. One man was covered in blood, several people were shouting at each other, and Proudfoot was trying vainly to get a head count.
“Where’s Tonks?” Proudfoot demanded loudly of the group.
“She went to Hogwarts,” said Savage, nursing what appeared to be a broken wrist, “she got hit with something, and her patient was hurt bad.”
“And Smythe?” demanded Bones, who was now on the scene and moving between the returned fighters. “Where is he? He was supposed to retrieve the Longbottoms with Tonks.”
“I don’t know,” Savage replied bleakly, “I saw someone go down to a blasting curse, but I couldn’t tell who it was.”
“What happened up there?” asked Proudfoot. “The Ministry couldn’t have apparated into the hospital proper.”
“They had people disillusioned. I don’t know how many. I think it was only a few, but it was enough to cause a lot of trouble. One of the floors was on fire when we left…”
“On fire,” repeated Bones in dread. “Were there casualties among the other patients?”
“I saw at least two other people go down in an explosion,” replied Savage softly.
“Bloody hell,” moaned Bones. “Proudfoot, find Tonks and Smythe as soon as possible. I need to speak to Algernon. The Prophet is going to crucify us tomorrow. We have to get the truth out immediately.”
Proudfoot nodded to his superior and returned to examining the remainder of the group. His eyes settled on Harry for a moment.
“Potter, was that you who brought down the ceiling?”
“Er, I think so. I’m not entirely sure.”
“Alright. Well, we’ll talk about what happened later; make sure a healer checks you over.”
Taking that as a dismissal, Harry hurried to follow Madam Bones back to the Manor. He hoped she was going to contact someone at Hogwarts about Tonks. It unnerved him that he didn’t know what became of her. He also suspected that a certain Indian witch would be anxiously awaiting his return.
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A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Next chapter, things heat up considerably as Harry’s group attempts to get the truth out to magical Britain. Harry and Parvati grow closer, and everyone’s favorite bad witch returns to the story.
Special thanks to Voice of the Nephilim, Vikingfn0926, Scaryisntit, Perspicacity, and BennyS for their valuable input on the chapter.