Secret unposted chapter
Chapter XVI
The signing of the magical contract between Harry Potter, William
Laurence and the British Ministry of Magic, it turned out, wasn’t as simple as
Mrs. Watkins had made it seem.
“The minister wants to make a thing out of it. As public a thing
as he can manage,” the woman explained with a grumble, speaking through
the fireplace. “They’re willing to sign it – without many changes either –
and it’s not just him, but also the Chief Warlock of Wizengamot. But they want
to do it in front of cameras, with you there.”
“Of course,” Harry sighed, and thought about it. He didn’t
much like the notion – he hadn’t forgotten the ways of this world so badly that
he wouldn’t have seen what it was for, publicity and public support and whatnot.
They wanted the people to know in as much detail as possible that they had
Harry Potter on their side. Which put him into rather awkward a position.
Naturally, but now everyone interested knew he was back – he had only
glanced at a Daily Prophet that day before setting it down in disgust, but it
had been enough for him to see his own story in the front page. So, it wasn’t
like he had that big of an element of surprise in this war, not with publicity
like that. However, he had hoped to keep his face, as it was now, out of the
papers and maybe that way win himself some time at least.
And, if the reporters of Wizarding world were anything like Rita
Skeeter, well. He had a feeling they’d ask some pointed questions, and then
write their own versions of his answers.
“Well, I will not do it,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
“Either they sign the thing without this hassle, or they agree to
additional conditions.”
“Such as?” Watkins asked eagerly.
“Hm… ministry sponsored pay for me and my people. Much higher than
whatever they’re planning to pay now. If I’m working for them on two different
things, they might as well pay accordingly,” Harry said slowly. “And
full authority over Ministry’s security if it comes to that.” It had been
one of the things he had talked with Amelia Bones, how very unlikely the
Ministry was to adopt extra security measures even in time of war, not if it
inconvenienced people and cost money.
“Hm. I think I can wing it,” Watkins said. “I would also
wring out full pardons to you and all your people,” she added. “That
way they won’t be able to try you or your people later on for whatever you do
in this mess.”
“If you can, go ahead,” Harry agreed, and she nodded before
withdrawing.
It was the next morning before she called back – after another fairly
boring night spent as Horntail, which had only been saved from being utter
waste of time by the fact that the ground crew had noticed that she had became
nocturnal and had arranged her food accordingly. Waiting for the word of
Harry’s non-capture to come in was getting really tiresome on the other world,
but at least it was a breather in a rather fast paced chain of events.
Harry was thankfully washed, clothed and recently eaten when Watkins
called again to tell him that Ministry had agreed to the terms. “They
really want the publicity,” she said, rather amused. “I think
Minister Fudge has had something of a nose-dive in his support and popularity
since the Dark Lord’s return – and if he can’t get it back by the time Hogwarts’
term ends, he’ll lose his throne to someone else. So he’s throwing everything
at you, hoping it’ll stick.”
Harry smiled faintly. “When will the signing happen?” he
asked.
“I pushed them so that it’ll be this afternoon – they wanted to
wait a few days, but I understood that you’re in something of a hurry,”
she said. “So, twelve o'clock at the Ministry’s public auditorium. There will be
about twenty reporters, plus Auror guards and whatnot, and of course Minister
Fudge and Chief Warlock Beddington.”
Harry frowned. “I though Dumbledore was the Chief Warlock?”
he said slowly.
“He lost the position when he proclaimed that Voldemort had
returned, when Ministry didn’t yet want to hear it,” Watkins said with a
grimace. “It was almost half a year of bad public for Dumbledore, up until
Azkaban was cracked open. That’s why Fudge is in such trouble now – he spent
all that time ridiculing Dumbledore and telling people that of course Voldemort
could never be back and then wham. And here we are.”
“Ah. I suppose that does explain it,” the aviator murmured.
“So, twelve o'clock,” he said.
“Better come half an hour earlier – I will be there as well,”
Watkins added and glanced around – probably for Laurence, who was reading in
his room. “Are you going to bring that handsome Lieutenant of yours? His
signature is already on the contract.”
“Handsome?” Harry asked with a blink and then shook his head.
“No, I think not. If I have to make a spectacle about myself and have my
face in every paper, fine, but I’ll be damned if I put his into them as
well,” he said and stood up. “Any way to keep the minister from
making any mention of Laurence?”
“I don’t think we have to worry about that – he’s a muggle, so the
Ministry won’t say a word. Bad publicity, that, having muggle working to do
something they themselves can’t do,” the solicitor snorted. “I’ll see
you half past eleven in the ministry, then. How are you going to get there,
however?”
“I’ll floo in through Chief Bones’ office, unless she minds. There
are some things I want to talk with her at any rate,” Harry shrugged.
“Alright. I shall be waiting by the elevators then.”
With that said the woman withdrew, and Harry left the room to inform
Laurence and the Order that he’d be heading out later. None of them liked it
much, of course, but they seemed aware that the handling of Harry’s affairs
weren’t in their hands because their objections lacked strength and conviction.
“Should I come, sir?” Laurence asked later, when Harry was
going through some of the closets in the house, trying to find a suitable robes
to wear – he had no intention of showing his uniform to the public, and letting
them draw conclusions about that.
“No, it isn’t necessary, and I want to keep your existence out of
print,” Harry said, eying set of dark burgundy robes and then discarding
them. “Being shown at my side, you’d become a target. For the press and
for Voldemort, if he’s watching.”
“Ah,” the lieutenant said, watching him silently for a moment
as Harry eyed and discarded some five set of robes before pausing to look at
handsome set of dark green robes with suit jacket’s collar. They were a bit
long, and moths had eaten holes to the shoulder and hem, but Mrs. Weasley could
probably fix them nicely.
“Captain Potter? What will happen after the contract is
signed?” Laurence asked after a moment. “I understand that we are to
train a group of law enforcement officers in military tactics, at the school
Hogwarts, but…”
“For now, that is it,” Harry said. “You and I cannot do
much by ourselves, neither of us have magic nor full understanding of this war,
so we will train those who do and in the mean while we learn more. I will
however try and get us some weaponry – muggle firearms and explosives are far
more advanced here, that they are back home, and I intend to take full advantage
of them. Also, the Order of Phoenix has a spy among Voldemort’s ranks, who
resides in Hogwarts and hopefully, unless the bastard decides to be difficult,
I can make use of that.”
He paused for a moment, lowering the robes he had been examining and turning
to Laurence. “Eventually – and I hope that eventually will be very
soon – we will defend the ministry, and magical alleys and whatever other place
might be Voldemort’s target and, if we can, we will bring the war to him – we
will find his hide outs and head quarters and we will destroy or capture them.
And we will either kill or capture all his followers.”
Laurence swallowed and nodded. “And Voldemort himself, sir?”
“Hm. I will first need to figure out how he achieves his brand of
immortality – be so nice as to remind me about it later, when ever we might see
Dumbledore, he might know,” Harry added, turning to the robes. “Then,
whatever it is, we will neutralise it however we can. And then… why, I imagine
I will put a bullet between his eyes.”
The lieutenant said nothing for a moment. When he did, his voice was
oddly subdued. “You make it sound quite easy, sir.”
“Yes. I know,” the aviator agreed with a sigh. “I am
rushing things a bit, but I really want this done as soon as possible – I don’t
want to dawdle. But you’re right, it won’t be so easy. Nothing ever is. Now,
what do you think?” he added, turning to the man and holding the robes
against him. “Will these do?”
“Aside from the holes, they’re very fine,” Laurence said,
though with a sort of wry tilt to his smile that made Harry doubt his approval
very much.
“Well, I think they’re best I can manage in the time given,”
the aviator mused. “Hopefully our patch of clothing will come from Madam
Malkin’s soon, but for now this will have to do.”
Mrs. Weasley did manage to fix the robes a bit, even clean them from
the dust and get rid of the smell of having hung in a closet for better part of
a decade. The size took a bit more working, but in the end the robes came out
good enough, fitting Harry as well as could be managed on such a short notice.
“I do wish they could’ve done something about your cheek in St.
Mungos,” the woman fussed while arranging Harry’s collar and plucking at
the neck cloth Harry had tied, which worked just as well as a proper tie
would’ve.
“My cheek is fine,” Harry said, pushing her hands away and re
arranging the neck cloth before she could tug it out of order.
“Are you sure about this?” Remus asked, from where he was
watching. “About giving the ministry your public support?”
“I’m not. I’m publicly forming a contract with the Ministry,”
the aviator answered and decided that his clothing was fine enough and it was
time to go. “And one way or the other, it will get Voldemort’s attention
and I have to admit, I am not exactly against that. If I can make him worry
about me, he hopefully won’t start attacking just now.”
There were few more objections, but the matter was already decided upon
and eventually Harry managed to detach himself from the overly concerned order
on the account of being late if he didn’t. Amelia Bones was waiting for him in
her office when he came through, looking grim.
“No uniform this time,” she noted, glancing down along his
robes.
“I’m not quite ready to publicly announce everything,” Harry
shrugged. “It’s bad enough that the Ministry wants me to make so much
noise, so I will try and keep everything else as secret as I can. Shall you be
there?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Bones said with a grin.
“I have to warn you, though, I think they’ve readied a speech for
you.”
“Indeed?” Harry asked, and then followed her out of the
office – where, surprisingly, Percy Weasley was waiting for him.
“There you are, Mr. Potter,” the wizard said, with odd tone
and even odder expression as he pushed forward and shook Harry’s hand, like
they had never met before – all the while making it seem like they were best of
friends. “So good of you to come, though it would’ve been better if you
would’ve used the public entrance, or the Minister’s entrance. Now, here’s your
speech and what you’re to answer to the Minister’s and the reporters’
questions,” he added, “You have only so much time to study them, so
be quick.”
Harry raised an eyebrow and looked down to the parchments, reading
through the short speech which was mostly about how happy he’d be to help the
minister to fight the threat of darkness and whatnot, and then the dialogue who
was pretty much the same.
“Right,” he said, glancing around until he found a garbage bin
and dropping the parchments into it. “Chief Bones?” he asked from the
highly amused woman.
“The elevators are that way – I believe your lawyer will be
waiting for you there,” she said, smirking.
“Thank you. And, if possible, I would like to have a moment in
private with you later. Once the contract is signed,” Harry added.
“My door will always be open for you, of course,” the woman
said.
With a nod at both her and Percy who stared after him with outraged
expression, Harry turned and walked through the corridor, which was flanked by
offices of some very curious aurors, all of whom poked their heads out at the
sight of him, and whispered. Harry ignored them, however, his attention
concentrated on Alberta Watkins, who was waiting by the open doors of an
elevator – holding those said doors open.
“No uniforms?” she asked in almost exact same tone as Bones
had.
“I opted for strategic camouflage,” the aviator said, as they
stepped into the elevator together. “Do you know what I’m to expect?”
“More or less,” she said, taking out a slip of parchment and
looking over it. “The ministry will give a speech, then sign the contract
with flourish, followed by Warlock Beddington, and then you shake hands with
both. Then you’re expected to give a speech and both you and the Minister will
answer questions.”
“Well, I dropped the speech to a bin, so that won’t be
happening,” Harry answered, folding his arms.
“They’re bound to take that nicely,” the woman laughed.
“Have you planned on saying anything?”
“Not really. I just want the Minister’s and the Warlock’s
signatures and then I will be satisfied,” the aviator said.
“Afterwards they can all do whatever they damn well like.”
There was a huge crowd of people on the level where the ministry’s
public auditorium was – reporters, whose cameras begun flashing away the moment
they caught a sight of him, all rushing forward to press microphones as near as
possible, their questions instantly flying. “Mr. Potter, how does it feel
to be back?” and “Mr. Potter, what is in the contract you are
signing, have you read it?” “Mr. Potter, what was the other world
like?” and “Mr Potter, what do you think of Ministry’s policy?”
and so on. One of them however was pushier and most and came forth with
gratingly familiar, “Harry, darling, how about few words for your public?”
Harry only glanced at Rita Skeeter before pushing past her, with
Watkins following closely behind him. “There,” the solicitor pointed,
and Harry made his way quickly through the crowd, shouldering his way through
with sheer physical force, before he made it into what he supposed was the back
room of the auditorium.
“Mr. Potter!” Minister Fudge’s voice greeted him eagerly, and
the man rushed forward to shake his hands. “What a pleasure to see you up
and about – you were in quite a state the last time we met. How is your wound –
perfectly healed, I suppose?”
“Perfectly,” Harry answered, squeezing the man’s rather
clammy hand before withdrawing his own. He glanced quickly around in the room,
making a mental note of the tall, bushy bearded wizard who was probably
Beddington, and of one Lucius Malfoy who lingered about a doorway, eyes nailed
on Harry. “How are you, Minister?” the aviator then asked, turning
his eyes away, ignoring the rest.
They chatted rather inanely for a moment, before the Ministry asked him
rather nervously. “And you have your speech, I hope?”
“It’s somewhere, I’m sure,” Harry said reassuringly. “I
understand that the press conference is more or less scripted through
out.”
“As much as it can be, yes,” Fudge said glumly and then
patted Harry’s shoulder compassionately. “Just let me answer any questions
put to us first and it will be perfectly alright.”
The aviator said nothing to that, and very carefully avoided looking at
Watkins who was perfectly blank faced, but with eyes full of mirth. Instead
Harry turned his attention to the door, waiting.
Then the whole ordeal started. The Minister led Harry to the
auditorium, where they were welcomed with murmurs and small applause, before
the reporters all sat down and then the Minister took the podium. Harry listened
his speech only with an half ear, it was basically the same as the speech he
had discarded but in reverse; the ministry was very happy to proclaim that from
this day on, they’d be working in very close co-operation with Harry Potter,
the chosen of Prophesy, and that to that end a contact detailing their
co-operation had been drawn out, which they’d be signing that day.
Harry looked instead at the reporters. There was surprisingly many of
them – he hadn’t even known there were that many papers in the wizarding world.
But then, they all seemed to come in pairs, each reporter having their own
camera man and sometimes even a separate person carrying recording equipment.
Rita Skeeter of course had near the front seat, and her Quick Quotes Quill was
writing almost fast enough to produce smoke.
Then the signing happened. Under Watkins’s severe gaze and Harry’s
sidelong look, the Minister produced a black quill, similar to the one Harry
and the others had used to sign the contract. Harry had to suppress a momentary
amusement at the sight of the minister wincing as the quill carved the
minister’s name into the back of his hand – it was quickly healed, of course,
gone in a instant, but as Fudge stepped back, he rubbed at his hand, still
wincing.
Then Beddington signed the scroll, he with better composure, before
almost ceremonially handing it to Harry. There was applause while Harry looked
at the scroll, to see that it was indeed the one he had signed, before handing
it to Watkins who very professionally rolled it tight, and sealed it with dark
blue wax and the signet ring of her company.
“Now, Mr. Potter would like to say a few words,” Fudge said
to the reporters and then stepped back, bowing and letting Harry take the
podium.
“Thank you,” Harry said, as civilly as he could, and then
looked at the reporters, who very nearly drooling over their pads in eagerness
to write whatever he would say down. The aviator smiled at them. “I don’t
actually have anything to say, but I can take a few questions before I have to
be elsewhere,” he said.
It was a twenty seconds’ worth of pandemonium as all the reporters
nearly jumped to their feet, hands waving in the air with eagerness to be the
first who got their question hear. Beside Harry, Fudge tried to push forward
and stop the aviator from saying anything, but Watkins put herself very neatly
in between, holding the contract up like a weapon – which it was. The
non-interference clause was now signed, after all, and the minister couldn’t
step forth without breaking the contract. Meanwhile, Harry eyed the reporters
rather amusedly and then picked one who looked particularly boring – an elderly
man with white at his temples and look about him that made him look rather like
a librarian. “You sir, with the silver rimmed glasses.”
“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” the man said, rising to his feet.
“What is your plan concerning the Dark Lord and the rumours about him
gathering an army? What sort of measures do you plan to take?”
“For security reasons, I cannot comment on that right now,” the
aviator answered calmly, and then picked another.
It was actually his answer to almost every question they put to
him. Were the rumours about his co-operation with the Department of Magical Law
Enforcement true? He couldn’t comment. What about the rumours about him and the
Department of Mysteries? He couldn’t comment. What was his view of ministry
policies? He was quite sure he couldn’t comment.
The only question he answered was rather desperate attempt by Rita
Skeeter, who, after figuring out that Harry wasn’t answering any questions
about the war, put forth; “How does it feel to be back?”
“So far it has very little to recommend itself,” Harry said.
“And that is all the time I have, I’m afraid. Thank you for your consideration.”
With that, he stepped back and ignoring both Fudge and Beddington, he
and Watkins made their way away and to the backroom, where they passed a
frowning Lucius Malfoy.
“How very interesting, that contract,” the man noted, just as
they were about to leave. “All those paragraphs and clauses. And to what
end?”
Harry paused at that and glanced at the man. “You’ve seen it, Mr.
Malfoy?” he asked bluntly.
“A copy of it,” the man said, smiling slightly. “It is
very neat legal footwork, Mrs. Watkins. My congratulations.”
“Thank you,” the woman said, bowing her head slightly.
“A copy of the contract,” Harry murmured, his eyes narrowing
as he considered the possible damage the knowledge in wrong hands might have
done. There were no actual details of what he intended to do in the contract,
no specific of his thoughts, just what desired the ministry agree with. Most
damning point was, perhaps, the point about his and Laurence’s return to the
other world, but that only mattered once Voldemort was gone and the war ended.
It did have Laurence’s name, however, and if Harry were Voldemort, he’d
be mighty interested.
“Well. I hope you enjoyed the spectacle, Mr. Malfoy,” he
said, wondering, wondering. Malfoy could freely traverse the ministry and had
an easy access to Ministry’s contracts and documents. What else did he have
access to? And how many others were there, worming their way through the
building? It was yet another thing to discuss with Chief Bones.
“I’m afraid I must be off, however. Good day to you,” the
aviator added, and under the man’s thoughtful gaze he and Watkins exited the
room and made their way to the elevators.
x
By the time Harry returned to Grimmauld place to find that Dumbledore
was there to congratulate him on his success, he had spent nearly an hour
discussing death eaters and then the volunteers and their invitations to start
their training at Hogwarts, as well Ministry’s defences and weaknesses with
Amelia Bones, as well as escape routes and whatnot. They had decided that
Ministry had rather poor defences all together and wasn’t making most of it’s
resources by a long shot and perhaps it was time to start supplying all
the ministry workers with emergency Portkeys at the very least – among many
other things.
“I see things went well,” Dumbledore noted, holding the very
quickly printed extra edition of the Prophet, rushed through the print just so
that they could cover the press conference.
“Well enough,” Harry agreed, quite satisfied. “I now
have Ministry’s support, their vow of non-interference, and free hands with the
management of this side’s war efforts. Watkins is as we speak negotiating the
funds and whatnot with the ministry’s treasurer, but she’s already gotten pay
for me and whoever work for me. So, I am quite ready to start.”
“Well then. Would you wish to see Hogwarts today, or shall you
leave that until later?”
“Today would be the best – the volunteers will start arriving
tomorrow,” Harry said with a faint smile. “So we might as well get
started. And I think it’s best we relocate there permanently, unless you have
any objections?”
“None at all. I have quarters settled for you, the lieutenant and
enough space for up to fifty volunteers – we modified one of the disused towers
for you,” Dumbledore assured. “Also, in case you do not wish to share
your dinners with the rest of the school, we turned one of the classrooms in
that tower into a dining hall.”
“Splendid, that will do quite nicely,” Harry nodded.
“Lieutenant?” he added, glancing at the man who was sitting with
Sirius and Remus, notebook in his lap and quill in his hands. “Unless you
have reservations, we will be relocating to Hogwarts and starting with the
outlining of the training grounds and schedules.”
“No reservations at all, sir,” the man assured.
“I have one,” Sirius said, holding up his hand. “Can I
come?”
“You’re a wanted fugitive, Sirius,” Harry pointed out, making
Laurence’s eyebrows lift.
“I could come as Padfoot?” the man said hopefully. “I
could be the company pet!”
Harry considered it, glancing between him and Remus, who too had a considering
look about his face. Then he glanced at Dumbledore, who had somewhat reluctant
look about his face. “Alright,” he said, before the headmaster could
say anything. “As Padfood.”
“Yes!” Sirius cried, rather like a small boy who got his way
after month of whining, and quickly stood up. “I’ll just go get my things
– I’ll be right back!”
“Harry,” Dumbledore said seriously. “Was that entirely
wise?”
“Probably not, but I think he’s been a prisoner long enough. Would
you like to join us as well, professor Lupin?” Harry asked thoughtfully. He
wasn’t sure if he would need the man’s council just yet, but he would probably
need it later and it would be useful if Lupin was familiar with at least some
of his plans when the time came
“Well, I suppose if the headmaster doesn’t mind,” Remus said,
smiling while looking between Dumbledore and Harry. “Don’t you have some
things here you might want to pack and bring along, though, Harry?”
“Ah, yes, the books. You’re absolutely correct. And I need to
change my clothing, I dare say – these robes feel… clumsy. Excuse me,
gentlemen,” the aviator said and went to pack as well. He exchanged the
robes to his proper uniform, sighing a bit as he straightened the labels and
smoothed a hand over the sleeves – it had felt decisively strange to
wear something with ankle length hem.
Thankfully, he didn’t have that many things – just his books, which he
tied together with a string and then carried out of the room that had been his
during his stay in Grimmauld place. Sirius was likewise ready when he returned
to the drawing room, carrying a sack of something with him, which he was
handing over to exasperated looking Remus.
“You know, as Padfoot you won’t be needing clothing?” the
werewolf asked.
“Well, I might change back behind closed doors,” Sirius
defended himself, grinning at Harry. Then, without further word, Sirius
crouched down and changed shapes, causing Laurence to take two hasty steps
backwards.
“He’s an animagus,” Harry explained. “It’s a skill
wizards can learn, to change their shape into that of an animal.”
“Ah yes… I believe it was mentioned in the introductory
book,” the Navy officer agreed, though he looked at the great black dog at
their feet with somewhat uneasy look.
Harry patted his shoulder consolingly. “You will get used to
it,” he promised and then turned to Dumbledore. “Shall we go? Will we
be flooing to your office, sir?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of Three Broomsticks. The
walk back to the castle will give you a chance to take a look at the grounds,”
the headmaster said.
“Yes, that would be most suitable. After you, sir.”
The pub of Three Broomsticks was as Harry remembered it, if a bit
emptier. Homely, cosy, with several tables and atmosphere of warmth and
hospitality. He felt a momentary spike of something that was almost some sort
of belated homesickness – why hadn’t he missed the place in the other world,
it’s warmth and welcome? It felt now as if he should have.
“Madam Rosmerta, my dear,” Dumbledore greeted the barkeeper
as she came forward curiously. “I apologise for bumbling in as we did –
hope we’re not any trouble.”
“No, none at all, headmaster, of course not,” she assured
brightly, smiling. “Are you and your companions – good Merlin, that’s a
big dog,” she added, as Sirius came through the fire, nearly knocking
Harry over. “So,” she recovered herself. “May I bring you
anything?”
“No, I’m afraid we’re only coming through on our way to the
castle,” Dumbledore apologised to her. “But perhaps a case of
butterbeer to go?”
“I’ll get you one,” Rosmerta said but didn’t move, eyeing
Harry and Laurence in their uniforms curiously, before her eyes widened.
“Good heaven – Harry Potter?” she asked, taking an involuntary step
forward. “Welcome back, Mr. Potter!”
“Thank you,” Harry said with a mild smile.
“Are you heading back to Hogwarts – so late in the year? Well, of
course you must be, having missed so much schooling. Might I expect to see you
here one weekend or another?”
“I am afraid I am going to be rather busy, my dear lady, but if
occasion permits I would be delighted,” Harry promised. “Right now,
however, we must be off.”
“Yes, indeed,” Dumbledore added, glancing back as Remus, the
last of their party, came through the fireplace. “So, if you kindly could
get the butterbeer, I’d be most obliged…”
After Dumbledore had paid for the drinks and promised Rosmerta that
he’d be coming around the next Friday if his business permitted, they headed
out. Hogsmeade hadn’t changed any more than Three Broomsticks had, it was the
same, charming, little village it had been the last time, with it shops and
signs and oddly dated outlook that belonged better three hundred years into the
past.
As they walked through the place, Harry explained to Laurence what it
was – though the man had read about Hogsmeade in his book, the introduction was
obviously necessary and welcome. Soon the Navy man looked around with newfound
curiosity, though rather cautiously, probably not wishing to cause offence by
staring.
Then, soon after, they were out of the village and making their way
towards Hogwarts. With Sirius running about, going ahead and coming back,
tongue lolling cheerfully as he loped off, Harry took in the surroundings with
that same hindsight nostalgia. He hadn’t missed the place, not really, and once
he’d be returned back to his new, real home, he would continue to not miss it.
But it was… charming, to see the place again. The familiar grounds, the
forbidden forest in the distance, the mountains looming about – he had many
good and bad memories of the lot.
“There,” he said then to Laurence, pointing ahead when
Hogwarts came to view. “That is the school – that is where we will be
living from here on.”
Laurence peered ahead, his eyes a little wide. “When a castle
was mentioned, I did not expect something quite like… that,” he admitted.
“It is enormous.”
“It has been around some thousand years now, and has gone through
several expansions and periods of remodelling,” Dumbledore explained.
“It used to have a wall and battlements and such, but I’m afraid they were
sacrificed to expansion. Hm. What’s this?” the old man asked, trailing
away while he shielded his eyes from the sun light and peered ahead.
There was something white and swift coming forth. Harry narrowed his
eyes to see better, and then his heart skipped a beat, as the white thing came
close enough to be recognised. He managed only just lift his arm in time, as
Hedwig came swooping in – she probably would’ve landed on his head in her
haste. And anger, he thought as she glared at him, clicking her beak and making
disgruntled noises, shifting from one leg to another in irritation.
“Good god,” the aviator said, startled – and then guilty,
very guilty. “Hedwig.” He had forgotten all about her.
“She’s been living in the owlery, I believe,” Dumbledore
said, looking a bit amused as Harry tried to lift a hand to stroke her, and she
nearly bit his fingers.
“It’s an… owl,” Laurence said slowly, like trying to come to
grips with it.
“She’s my owl,” Harry said, guilt vanishing to wonder. She
was as beautiful as she had been the day Hagrid had given her to him – as
neatly preened as ever, and as big. If not even more so. Hefting his arm up and
down again, Harry tried to measure her weight – she had put on some, that was
for sure, but then she, like he, had always been in somewhat lean health,
thanks to the Dursleys.
“I am sorry, my dear,” Harry added, when the owl kept on
glaring at him. “I would have brought you with me, if only I could have.
Please do not be cross with me,” he pleaded, and lifted his hand again.
She glared at him, but allowed him to pet her and he felt a odd burst of
warmth.
Was this something like what captains felt with their dragons? This,
but magnified hundredfold?
“Shall we continue?” Dumbledore asked after a moment, when
Sirius barked at them impatiently from ahead.
“Yes. Yes, of course,” Harry said, and lifted Hedwig to his
shoulder instead. Her talons dug holes into his uniform shoulder – and into his
skin – but right then he couldn’t have minded her even if she had ripped his
jacket into shreds. Well. Not much, at any rate.
Her weight on his shoulder was unfamiliar but oddly comforting, as they
made the rest of the way up and to the castle of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It too had not changed much,
except for some minute things – the side effect of the Tri-wizard tournament
were gone, and the stadium where Harry had fought Horntail was gone. The ground
were blooming with the spring, with flowers where ever Harry looked, and the
trees verdantly green at all directions – even the sullen Whomping Willow was
showing to an advantage.
“I believe that if you are intending to do any expansive battle
training, the Quidditch pitch will do quite nicely,” Dumbledore said.
“However, the rest of he grounds are at your disposal once the school is
out, of course – except for the vegetable fields, I am afraid Hagrid would not
forgive me, nor the house elves.”
“The Quidditch pitch will do, for a start,” Harry agreed,
looking around. “It is solid ground, is it not? If everything goes
according to plans, I will be having the volunteers learning some skills that
use the terrain to their advantage, and some of those skills, if possible, will
require digging.”
“What sort of skills?” Dumbledore asked curiously, and Harry,
Remus and Laurence detailed what they had been talking about the day before,
about trenches and walls and such things. The head master listened and nodded.
“I do believe I can help you there, as far as the formation of the walls
goes, though you will have to professor Flitwick about the trenches – I do not
know the spells for that. But the Quidditch pitch will suit fine, I believe –
so as long whatever terrain modifications are done can also be undone.”
“Of course,” Harry nodded.
“Now, the tower we set aside for you has it’s own separate exits
and entrances, which I believe you will be mostly using,” Dumbledore
continued. “I suppose you would be interested in seeing them.”
“After you headmaster,” Harry nodded, and the tour started.
The tower was surprisingly spacious, with more than enough room for
several dozens of people – Dumbledore had taken his suggestions, and instead of
following the dormitory style of five persons per room, with bunk beds and less
room left unused, each room could accommodate about a dozen of people. Harry and
Laurence both had their own rooms, of course, and Hedwig was quick to take
imperious residence in Harry’s room. There was no sort of common room in the
manner of Gryffindor Tower, but there was the dining hall – where
meals would be served according to the number of people in the same time as the
rest of the castle ate - plus two separate class rooms, which could also work
as meeting places.
“The tower is of course joined in with the rest of the
castle,” Dumbledore explained, as they finished the tour at the base
level, where there was a sort of entrance hall with three doors, one leading
into the dungeons, one to the first floor of the castle, and one being the door
they had entered through. “But I rather assumed you intend to keep your
volunteers and Hogwarts students separate.”
“Yes. Or rather, I want to keep Hogwarts students from getting
under foot too much,” Harry said, eying the door leading to the corridors
of the castle proper. It wouldn’t do sealing it, but securing it… “I don’t
suppose we could have a portrait to guard the door?”
“Of course, I’ll arrange it,” Dumbledore promised, while
Sirius sniffed about the corners of the entrance hall, tail wagging curiously.
The headmaster eyed the dog worriedly for a moment before shaking his head.
“Some other security measures might be called for as well.”
“I’m thinking a collar for Sirius with Notice-me-not charm,”
Remus said thoughtfully, making the large hound turn to him with a wounded
look.
“Perhaps, perhaps,” Dumbledore said somewhat dubiously and
shook his head again. “Oh, and before I forget – Dobby, if you
please?” he asked, speaking to the air.
There was a noise somewhere between a pop and a crack, and a house elf
in somewhat clean pillow case appeared. Harry blinked with surprise, recognising
him at once – it was the elf he had released from Malfoy family at the end of
his second year. And yes, now he remembered – dobby had been hired to work in
Hogwarts sometime in his fourth year, hadn’t he? It felt like it had happened
ages ago.
“Harry Potter sir!” the elf gasped, eying him with shock.
“Oh, sir, it is… Dobby is so happy… welcome home, sir!”
“Thank you, Dobby,” the aviator answered somewhat awkwardly
and then noticed what had appeared along side the house elf. A trunk.
Specifically, his own, long forgotten school trunk.
“I thought you might want to have it now,” the headmaster
explained, smiling, and turned to the elf. “Dobby,” Dumbledore said
kindly. “Take Captain Potter’s trunk to the bigger of the private rooms on
the upper floor of the tower.”
“Yes, sir, right away, sir,” the house elf said, bobbing his
head, and then he and the trunk were gone again, vanished to the upper floors.
“Thank you,” Harry said, wondering what was in the trunk.
School books he wouldn’t need, clothing that wouldn’t fit anymore… “I am
not sure what use it will be, but I will see.”
“Well, your broom and the invisibility cloak are in it, you might
think of one or two uses for those,” the headmaster said, winking.
“Now, I think I shall leave you to familiarize yourself to your new
accommodations. Remus, perhaps you might join me? There are few things I’d like
to discuss with you,” he added, turning to the werewolf who nodded.
Nodding as well, Dumbledore looked back at Harry. “Should you need any assistance,
my office is only a fire call away. And of course, letters and notes will find
me quite quickly, I should say, while we’re both in the castle.”
“Thank you, I will keep that in mind,” the aviator said and
then bowed. “I thank you for your forbearance. I know you do not need to
oblige with my plans and needs, and it is most appreciated.”
“Oh, think nothing of it. If nothing else, it will give the castle
something new and perhaps not as worrisome to talk about, than Voldemort and
the war,” Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling. “Now I bid you good day,
Captain, Lieutenant.”
“Headmaster,” Laurence nodded politely.
Soon after Harry, Laurence and Sirius in shape of Padfoot were left
alone in the entrance hall of the tower and there was moment of silence, as
they both eyed their surroundings, taking in the carvings in the staircase
baluster, and the stained glass of the windows. “It is a… very handsome
tower,” Laurence then noted, seeming at a loss of what else to say.
Harry chuckled, smiling at Sirius who had left the corner of the room
in favour or jumping very nearly onto the window sill to peer outside. “I
suppose it is,” he said. “Do you wish to go outside, Sirius?” he
asked. “We can leave the door open for you. So as long as you are careful,
of course.”
The dog turned shining eyes to him and nodded eagerly, making Harry
laugh and release him from the confinement of the tower – which left him and
Laurence by themselves. With another chuckle, Harry turned to the stairs
leading up. “It will become quite busy here, with us, Sirius, the
volunteers and who knows what else. Busy and rather commonplace, I expect, and
then we won’t think twice about it.”
“I rather doubt it, sir,” the Navy officer murmured not quite
under his breath, following. “Sir,” he then raised his voice.
“How many students are there in the castle, precisely?”
“Around two hundred, I think,” the aviator answered
thoughtfully. “They might become a bit of a problem, in the beginning – in
Hogwarts word travels fast and I’d be surprised if the whole school didn’t
already know we’re here, and what we’re on about. And young wizards and witches
are a hopelessly curious lot.” And there were his old classmates too, his
housemates – Hermione, Ron, and the others…
“In case of interference, how are we to proceed?” Laurence
asked cautiously.
“Hm. Well, there is no corporal punishment in Hogwarts, so there
will be no violence towards the students,” Harry answered firmly. “I
suspect that Dumbledore will make sure that they don’t get to be too much of a
trouble, and if not him then the heads of each houses – if not…” he
trailed away, frowning. “It’s probably for the best that we time the
out-door training of the volunteers to take place when as many students as
possible are pre-occupied with lessons of their own. And possibly some security
measures will be necessary as well – shield magic between us and them to keep
them away.”
The lieutenant nodded, and they came to the dining hall – much smaller
and infinitely less impressive as the Great Hall, with nothing like the charmed
ceiling or the floating candles, but it had very wide, tall windows that lit up
the room quite nicely.
“How long do you think training the volunteers will take?”
Laurence asked, after they had eyed the silent, empty hall for a moment.
“Weeks, most likely. And if we are successful in our plans, there
is every possibility that there will be more volunteers to come,” Harry
said rather grimly. “I am sorry – this will most likely take months.”
“And before the deed is done and the war ended, there is no going
home for us,” Laurence said, with a surprising measure of casual
conviction.
“No. We would need the aid of the Department of Mysteries for
that, and they will not aid us until they have what they want,” the
aviator agreed and then sat down on the side of one of the long tables. They
exchanged a grim look and then Harry smiled, shaking his head. “Well. It
won’t be all bad. It has been a very unique experience so far, you have to
admit.”
“Quite unique, yes, sir,” the navy man said with a snort, and
then stiffened, giving Harry a glance, no doubt wondering if he had stepped out
of line.
“At ease, lieutenant,” the aviator said, with a crooked
smile. “It is a bit ridiculous, anyway. You have, what, eight year’s of
seniority on me as far as service goes? Four years more as an officer – and, on
top of that, we’re from vastly different services.” He snorted himself and
shook his head. “We’re in this together, so we might as well start working
together,” he added, and then held out his hand – a move made rudely
casual and borderline ridiculous by the fact that he was sitting on a table and
they were already acquainted. “Harry Potter – Harry if you
will.”
“Ah,” the lieutenant said, blinking, and then taking the
hand. “William Laurence – Will, I think, should suit.”
“Excellent,” the aviator said and stood. “Let’s have
another look around, shall we, Will? There might be secret passage ways here
about – and I’d rather know about them now, rather than when someone has
already put them into use.”
The first look around didn’t produce all that many secret passages, but
after Harry had the time to look into his trunk – from where he had found yet
another thing he had forgotten all about it – they had another look. The
Marauder’s Map was not only good for finding the two hidden passages into the
tower, but also warning Harry of the upcoming ruckus. Judging by the looks of
it, the whole class of fifth year Gryffindor were making their way towards the
tower – and the entrance had yet to be blocked.
“Oh dear. I was hoping I’d have more time,” Harry murmured,
looking at the approaching cluster of named dots on the parchment map, making
Laurence glance up from the rather small and uncomfortable trap door he had
been examining. “Some of my former classmates are on their way here. You
might as well stay here,” he added, folding the parchment. “I should
be able to handle them.”
“Are you quite sure? What if an attack comes upon you?”
Laurence asked, frowning slightly – the only time he had left Harry’s side was
when Harry had someone to accompany him, Dumbledore or Watkins or someone else.
“Well…” Harry frowned. He hadn’t had an attack that whole day
– which was bit of a surprise really, as it meant that Horntail had been left
to sleep through the day in peace. But if she had been left in peace so far,
then probably no one would bother her at this later hour either. “I will
call for you if I feel an attack coming – I should have warning about them
now,” the aviator promised. “Hopefully this won’t take but a moment.”
By the time he made it to the entrance hall, it was already full of
people – familiar, yet strange all at once. Curious he looked from one face to
another, noticing changes and remembering similarities – in the busy life of
the other world, he had forgotten many faces here, but now that he looked upon
them, they came to him. Hermione and Ron were at the head of the group. Then
there were Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, and near them
Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, and all the rest.
They had all grown, changed, and yet they were the same in a way. Same,
only older, wearing the familiar sets of school robes he remembered them in,
the school robes he had once worn. The most striking differences were in the
way they had arranged their own outlooks. Hermione’s hair had been tied to a
bun, Ron’s hadn’t changed, Neville’s hair was shorter, Seamus’s had been tied
to small braids, Dean had some badges attached to the front of his robes,
Lavender’s hair was in one thick braid, Parvati’s in a high ponytail. Small,
rather meaningless differences.
He didn’t know whether to feel jealous or sympathetic.
“Harry!” Hermione gasped, rushing forward and up the stairs
to him, crashing into his chest – only his reflexes kept her from sending him
falling crashing backwards into the stairs. “It’s true, you are here! It’s
so good to see you – it’s so good to have you back!”
“Hermione,” the aviator said, gently detaching her while the
others came forward as well, turning the staircase crowded – all except for
Ron, who somewhat awkwardly stayed at the foot of the stairs. There was general
murmur of greeting, “Good to have you back, mate!” and, “Blimey,
what are you wearing?” and “Is that a sword?” and
“What was the other world like?”. There were few claps to his shoulders
and lot of staring, and he found that he didn’t really have any idea how to
handle this.
They had been friends once. And he… had not missed them all that much.
While he was wondering what to say, how to properly greet them without
seeming too… stiff or cold, Hermione was
peering at his features. “Your face really is scarred! I saw your picture
in the Prophet, but I wasn’t sure if it wasn’t a printing error or
something,” she said, touching the burn scar. “What happened?”
“A dragon,” Harry answered with an awkward smile.
“The Hungarian Horntail did that?” Hermione asked, her eyes
widening.
“Never you mind that,” Harry said and shook his head before
looking at the others. What was he supposed to say to them? Give him a stranger
any day and he could how to handle it – but these people knew him, had
known him, before. They remembered the way he had been before – and Harry had
changed since then, he knew he had, he had done everything in his power to
change. The old Harry just had not fit in the other world and now… now he was
different.
Hermione seemed to sense his discomfort because she spoke again while
the others just looked at him expectantly. “I read the article of course
and there are people talking about it, and all – some are saying it’s all rubbish
but… You didn’t come back to Hogwarts as a student, did you?”
“Ah, no. Quite the opposite actually,” Harry said, relaxing a
bit. This he knew. This he could handle. “I am sorry, I can’t say much
about it, however. Word travels far too fast in Hogwarts and I need security
more than anything.”
“You’re really going to fight the war, mate?” Dean asked,
eyes wide and excited.
“That’s why I am here, yes,” Harry agreed with a smile,
“Do you think we could join?” Seamus asked, frowning a bit.
Harry hesitated a bit at that. It was their war and they were free to
fight if they chose, of course, but… he certainly had no uses for them, not
right now and hopefully not ever. “There is still time,” he said
instead and then glanced around them. They were still on the stairs. “How
about we move to one of the classrooms here? There are some chairs there and it
will be much more comfortable?”
They did, and while Harry led the crowd into the near by classroom, he
couldn’t help but notice that while Hermione stuck to his side, Ron was
lingering in the back uneasily. Smothering the urge to frown, Harry looked
away, considering it. If his old friend was unhappy about his return, why come
to see him at all? And Ron didn’t seem unwilling or displeased, just awkward.
Uncertain perhaps?
Well, they hadn’t been in the best of terms when he had stumbled out of
the world, maybe that was it.
Settling into the classroom, Harry leaned onto the teacher’s desk while
his old classmates took seats near him, on the desks and chairs, few dragging
theirs closer. “So, what was the other world alike? And why are you
dressed like that?” Lavender asked excitedly, Parvati grinning at her side
as the two girls looked him up and down.
“This? This is just something I picked up, fairly common wear in
the other world,” Harry said as nonchalantly as he could while Hermione
blinked and then frowned at him. “As for what comes to the other
world,” the aviator continued, before she could interject, “it was
much like this one – the time was different however. It was a little like
travelling back in time, in a way…”
In the next ten minutes or so, he satisfied their little questions with
snippets of information. No, there hadn’t been any magic at all, and yes he did
realise how awful that might be to some. And yes, it was a sword at his side, a
cutlass to be precise, Spanish make – and yes, he knew how to use it. What he
had been doing, oh, this and that, whatever he had to, trying to blend in…
“You know, that get up looks a bit like one of those old uniforms,”
Seamus said thoughtfully, looking at his green coat. “Muggle military, you
know.”
“It was just the style,” Harry assured him. “I grew used
to wearing it – it is easier, than robes, at times.”
He couldn’t satisfy all their questions and good four fifths of his
answers were lies, and rest of the time he had to plea being unable to comment
due to the war, and so on. In the end his old classmates got enough gossip
material to satisfy their curiosity and those who didn’t, grew bored hearing
him telling them he couldn’t tell them anything. When someone noted that it’d
be time for dinner soon, they begun getting up, preparing to leave.
All, but Hermione who threw a look at Ron who lingered back as well,
awkward but determined. The rest of the student seemed to realise what they
intended, because they made their exit even faster, bidding Harry welcome home
once more and telling him they’d see him around.
Then it was Harry alone with Hermione and Ron, and after the door
closed after the other students, the atmosphere grew decisively awkward. Harry
looked between his two old friends, and then forced the tension out of his
shoulders. “Has the Order informed you of my plans?” he asked.
“Not really. Mrs. Weasley and Sirius told us some, in letters, but
nothing really clear – they can’t, really, not through owl post. There is this
absolutely horrible teacher here and…” Hermione shrugged uneasily
and looked at him, up and down, taking in the labels of his suit, the wear of
his sword hilt. “It’s not just a style, is it? That’s way too neat, too
well made, too worn, too… it’s not just a style. It is a uniform.”
“Yes, it is. I am in military service in the other world – that is
why I am here now, at Hogwarts, to put my experiences to use. I am going to be
training some people to work as a military force in this war,” Harry
agreed and straightened a bit. “But that is not what I meant. My plans for
this war aside, it is the plans I have for after it that matter,” he added
and looked at his two old friends. “Once this war is over, I will go back
to the other world.”
Ron’s eyes widened a bit at that while Hermione opened her mouth,
closed it, and then opened again. “Go back?” she whispered.
“Yes. I made my home there,” the aviator said and smiled
sadly at her. “I’m not saying this to be unkind. I just want you to
understand that however things will go, my time here will be limited. Either
this war will kill me, or I will win it and then leave. Either way, I will not
be here for long, certainly not indefinitely,” he added and while Hermione
stared at him with a dumbstruck expression, he then turned to Ron. “So I
do not have time for hesitation.”
The redhead flushed a bit at that, looking away and scowling at the
tables for a moment before lifting his head again. “Mate –” he started
awkwardly. “About… about the things I said, back when, back before –”
“Were said then,” Harry supplied, looking at him
closely, wondering. They had been fighting when he and Horntail had crashed,
and never gotten the chance to make up. Harry hadn’t had the time to think
about it too much – but Ron… had he been fretting over it since? “Don’t
worry about it,” the aviator added. “It was long ago.”
Ron relaxed a bit, still looking uneasy but relieved.
“You’re really going to go back? Why?” Hermione asked again,
stepping closer to Harry. “But you said that there isn’t any magic
there.”
“I don’t need magic to live. If anything I lived better without
it. I liked my life better. I’m sorry,” he answered. “But I am either
going back or dying in the attempt.”
She frowned, looking at his face closely before sighing, still looking
troubled but seeming to figure out that arguing wouldn’t get her anywhere.
“And you’re going to be busy with this war too,” she murmured.
“I guess we won’t have much time to catch up.”
“Hopefully at some point. Right now this will demand my full
attention,” Harry admitted and looked from one to other. Hermione and Ron
were looking at each other, and he would have to be blind not to see how
dissatisfied they were. By what? His disinclination to include them, his
manners, his secrecy?
“I am sorry,” he said again, not sure what else to say. They
were starting to see that he wasn’t the same person he had been and they didn’t
know how to take it – and he couldn’t soften the blow because he needed them,
and everyone else, to see it. It was the only way he’d ever be taken seriously.
“It has been a while. Things have… changed.”
“Yeah,” Ron murmured and then smiled. “But it’s good to
see you, mate. Mum’s been fretting like mad and it’s nice to know you didn’t
die in a ditch.”
“You’ve grown,” Hermione added, reaching to touch Harry’s
shoulder. “And you’ve been working out too,” she added in awe,
trailing her hands down his shoulders and squeezing the biceps, as much as she
could anyway. “Not much like the beanpole from before.”
Harry smiled, a little sadly, taking her hands and squeezing them.
“I have missed you,” he admitted softly. Not much, not all the
time, and eventually he had just forgotten, but… he had.
They parted soon after, all the things they could comfortably said
having been said, and the rest being too awkward to tackle on the first meeting
– and even to them Harry didn’t dare to tell much, not about his plans, about
the war. Though he knew he couldn’t keep things secret for long, he wanted to
keep them secret as long as he could. The element of surprise was very slight,
thanks to Ministry’s insistence on publicity, but he would hold onto what
little of it he could.
So, putting aside the thoughts of what his friends had been doing in
his absence, he headed out of the classroom and back up the stairs, where
Laurence was waiting for him looking nervous. “My apologies, Will,”
the aviator said. “It took a while longer than I expected.”
“None are required, sir,” the man assured, but he seemed a
bit more at ease, finding that he hadn’t had an attack.
“Harry,” the aviator corrected. “Now, come. We have
schedule to plan for tomorrow.”
- - - -
probably not gonna be continuing this anytime soon, but hey, have a chaptah.