An Unavoidable Meeting
Although he’d only been gone a month, it was rather strange how disjointed he felt and how jarring it was to be back within the walls of Grimmauld Place, and it took Harry several moments of reminding himself, that here, he was Harry Potter, the-boy-who-lived, and not the enigmatic Harry Peverell, who lived an entirely different existence.
For the past weeks, he had been occupied with finding his feet under the tutelage of his ancestors, focused on helping Ariana Dumbledore as much as he possibly could in the little time they’d been granted, and even the menial tasks of home improvement.
Now, he immediately felt the weight of everything he’d left behind once more upon his shoulders; Voldemort, his followers, and even the expectations of everyone who would inevitably look to him to put an end to the war he found himself embroiled in.
It was almost as though, for a while, he’d been able to put it all to the back of his mind. Now, however, it was everything else he needed to set aside whilst his priorities shifted.
It was a rather strange shift in his own mentality, and it would take some adjusting.
“Master is back,” Kreacher greeted him enthusiastically, and Harry offered the elf a smile.
Ever since the influence of the horcrux had been removed, he was much happier and certainly appeared to be healthier. He did not mutter to himself so much, but the haunted expression of what he’d endured remained, and Harry doubted he would ever be rid of it.
“I’m back,’ he declared. “Any letters for me?”
“Two from the Minister, three from the journalists, which Kreacher threw into the fire for you, one from Healer Tullius, and one from a young lady. Kreacher has left them in the study.”
Harry nodded appreciatively.
“Thank you, Kreacher.”
The elf offered him a bow.
“Would master like Kreacher to make him some dinner?”
Despite only having finished lunch with the Dumbledores not so long ago, Harry was famished.
“I would, but I will shower and read my letters first.”
“Of course, master.”
With a snap of his fingers, Kreacher vanished, and Harry made his way to the bedroom that had once belonged to his godfather, the familiar pang of loss filling him as he entered.
It remained as untouched as when Sirius had last occupied it, and Hary knew he was far from ready to change it. However, he found he no longer either wished or needed to be here as he had when he’d first arrived, and doing so did not sit right with him.
This was Sirius’s room, and although his godfather had despised the home that had become only a second prison, it was still his, and likely would always be so long as Harry was here.
“Kreacher?” he called sadly.
“Master called for Kreacher?” the elf asked as he appeared once more.
“Are there any other rooms ready?”
“For master, there is the master bedroom on the third floor. Would you like Kreacher to show you to it?”
Harry nodded and took a final look around Sirius’s room before closing the door and locking it with a tap of his wand.
He missed the man dearly and would undoubtedly always wonder how things would’ve been had they been different, but he was ready to move on now, ready to stand on his own two feet without the crutch of what-ifs and memories of what was never meant to be.
“This is the master suite, Master Harry,” Kreacher announced once they had ascended the stairs to the next floor.
It was a rather grand room with an enormous four-poster bed and large window that looked out onto the square at the front of the property. Much to Harry’s surprise, it wasn’t so gawdy, and had been decorated in a dark green, a dark walnut floor, with complimentary furnishings.
There was a black leather sofa set to one side next to a large bookshelf and even a cosy fireplace.
“There is a bathroom just through the door next to the bed,” Kreacher informed him.
Harry nodded appreciatively as he removed the trunks he carried and placed them on the bedside table before freeing the Peverells from their temporary accommodation.
“Well, that is a relief. I don’t like being in the dark,” Antioch grumbled.
“You were barely in there for a few hours. Anyway, I think I will hang you all in the study. That is where I spend most of my time here, and I can always take you with me when I’m practicing my magic elsewhere.”
“I think that is a wonderful idea,” Cadmus replied. “My, my, what a home this is."
“I have never seen anything quite like it,” Antioch agreed.
Harry allowed the trio to talk amongst themselves, offering Kreacher an appreciative nod before making his way to the study, where he placed the Peverells on the wall above the fireplace.
When they were situated, he shifted his attention to the two missives on his desk, penning a reply to Tullius to arrange his next appointment with the man.
He was interested to see what, if any other changes he occurred within him since their last before he’d returned to Hogwarts. It was the next letter he’d received in his absence, however, that quickly caught his attention.
The writing was unfamiliar, but he immediately knew who it was from.
To Harry,
I don’t remember much of what happened in Hogsmeade, but from what my mother, father, and Leanne have told me, it was you who saved my life.
I can’t even begin to put into words how grateful I am that you were there, or how I could ever make it up to you. Leanne explained to me what you did, how you protected me from the magic, and even got me to the Hospital Wing with Ron and Hermione.
I won’t be back at Hogwarts for a while, not until I have recovered, but the healers say I should be able to go home in the next couples of weeks.
If you have time, and are able to, I would appreciate it if you would visit me. I know my parents want to thank you in person, as do I.
Katie
He breathed a sigh of relief knowing that she would be okay.
It had been the nearest of misses for the girl, and Harry once more felt another burden weigh heavily upon his shoulders.
Dumbledore had not been so forthcoming about what had happened, or how it was that Katie found herself in such a situation, and given she did not seem to remember much, if anything, it was unlikely he would learn the truth of the matter.
What he did know was that it had been no accident. Katie was unlikely the intended target of the necklace, which meant that whoever had orchestrated it would undoubtedly try again, and whoever the intended victim was, was still in danger.
Maybe he should try to broach the subject with Dumbledore once more, for what good it would do, but for now, he needed to eat, sleep, and ready himself for his departure to the Burrow, but not before a visit to Diagon Alley to gather the last of the gifts he needed to purchase.
Yes, it was indeed strange being back, and given all that was happening around him, Harry did not doubt it would become not only stranger still, but all the more dangerous as the war continued in vain.
(Break)
Being all but forced into retirement more than a decade ago due to the various injuries he’d sustained throughout his career had been a rather bitter pills to swallow for Alastor Moody. He had struggled to find anything resembling a sense of mortality upon doing so, his life since he’d graduated from Hogwarts having been dedicated to the Department of magical Law Enforcement.
His job had been his hobby, and he certainly had no intention of pursuing anything else that could never hope to compare of the thrill of chasing down and capturing the scum of society.
The first year had been the worst.
He’d never slept much, always ready to spring into action when he was inevitably called upon, but with nothing to fill his time except from the thoughts of all he’d endured, all the enemies he’d made, he’d become restless and plagued by the thoughts that those he’d locked away would come for him.
Not that Alastor was scared for his life, but he would not see it taken from him so readily.
No, he could imagine nothing worse than being caught off-guard by one of the low life’s he’d seen sent to Azkaban.
He never would’ve imagined he’d find himself where he was now, sitting behind the desk of the second most powerful office in the country, signing off on the reports for the day from his subordinates.
He chuckled at the thought but yawned as his gaze drifted towards the clock on the wall.
The one thing he missed about his retirement years was that he wasn’t stuck in a stuffy office, sorting through paperwork late into the night.
“Bloody hell,” Alastor grumbled as a knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” he called. “This had better be good.”
“Still burning the candle at both ends, I see, Alastor,” Rufus Scrimgeour snorted as he entered the room, closing the door behind him.
“Aye, as are you, Rufus.”
The Minister of Magic nodded tiredly.
“Our positions are not enviable ones.”
“Just you wait until he gets tired of being quiet. This is easy, for now.”
“I wish I could say the same. Pour me a drink.”
“You know as well as I do that alcohol…”
“Don’t give me that claptrap, Moody. I know you’ve got a little something tucked away.”
With a shrug, Alastor removed the bottle of single malt he kept in his bottom drawer, along with two glasses before pouring each of them a generous measure.
“The journalists still bothering you?”
Rufus nodded as he drained his glass, grimacing from the burn.
“Relentlessly,” he huffed. “They want answers that I don’t have, and the damned Potter boy still won’t answer my letters.”
“Did you expect anything less?” Alastor snorted. “All of last year, the Ministry did everything it could to drag his name through the shitter. He was branded a liar, a glory hound, and everything else Fudge could sling at him.”
“I am not Fudge!”
“No, but you’re still the Ministry. Listen, Rufus, you should leave the lad be. You’ll get nothing out of him by mithering him constantly. As far as Potter is concerned, the Ministry of Magic has done nothing but interfere in his life. Hell, the bigwigs even had him on trial for underage magic when all he’d done is defend himself from the dementors. It wouldn’t have been so difficult to see that he was telling the truth, but no one bothered, did they?”
“No, I don’t suppose they did,” Rufus acknowledged, “but I need him on side, Moody.”
“No, you want him to be your little poster boy. You want the country to see that you are on good terms, for him to visit occasionally, shake your hand and smile for the waiting cameras. He might be just a boy, but he’s not daft. He won’t fall for it.”
“Who is he to deny the request of the Minister of Magic?”
“He is Harry Potter, Rufus,” Alastor pointed out. “In less than six months, he will be sitting with those bigwigs, and I don’t doubt he will put the wind up more than a few of them. The Dark Lord doesn’t fear Albus, not like he once did, but he fears Potter.”
Rufus nodded as he stood, and Alastor did not doubt that this conversation would go through one ear and out of the other. Scrimgeour was as stubborn as they came, and when his mind was set on something, he would not relent.
No, he would not stop trying to get the lad to go along with his scheme, but he would have to learn the hard way. Time and again, Alastor had warned him off the Potter boy, to no avail.
Oh, Rufus would inevitably find a way of speaking with him, but that conversation would not yield the results he was hoping for. Potter wouldn’t care for Rufus’s position and certainly would not hesitate in speaking his mind to the man.
He shook his head as Rufus bade him farewell, shifting his attention back to the reports in front of him. His job now was far from being what it once had, but Alastor Moody was glad to be back, doing all he could to prepare his aurors for the battles to come.
(Break)
“CRUCIO!”
He’d not called Draco to meet with him immediately. Instead, he had allowed the boy to stew in his failure just a little longer, but that had changed when he’d been made aware of what had happened to Crabbe and Goyle.
The damned fools had done exactly what he’d instructed them not to, and as a result, both were dead.
Potter.
It was a demonstration of a ruthlessness that so few possessed, but the Dark Lord did not doubt he was behind the explosion. Still, with Crabbe and Goyle dead, he needed an outlet for his anger, and unfortunately for Draco, he was to bear the brunt of it.
“I told you to be careful, to use the cunning I believed you possessed!” he seethed before subjecting the boy to another dose of his ire.
His screams were music to the Dark Lord’s ears, and he held him under the effects of the curse a little longer than he’d intended.
“You have one chance left, Draco. Do not fail me again. Get him out of my sight!”
He’d taken no small amount of joy in seeing the pale, teary-eyed Lucius all but carrying his son from the room, but Draco’s failure had not been a minor transgression.
Dumbledore would undoubtedly be looking into what had happened to the girl, and only the Dark Lord’s intervention had assured he was less likely to garner the truth.
The barmaid’s mind had been wiped clean of any knowledge of what had transpired, and according to Severus, the girl remembered nothing of value. It was a small mercy for Draco, though the boy would get no more from him.
No, if he happened to fail again, what few moments remained of his miserable life would be spent experiencing every form of agony the Dark Lord could exact upon him.
(Break)
He could only take in the devastation around him with a shake of his head, and looked on as the scattered remains of the two victims were gathered up by the aurors.
It was Arabella Figg who’d notified him of the explosion taking place at Privet Drive, and until he’d arrived, Albus had believed that Tom had struck against the property either from frustration, or as a warning.
What he had not considered was that Tom was not behind the blast at all, and certainly not that it had been a trap placed here by Harry. The entire street was saturated in his magic.
“What a damned mess,” Alastor grumbled. “Either those two are dimmer than we ever thought or…”
He broke off and shook his head.
“As far as I’m concerned, this was of their own doing, and that is what I will put in my report. Even if I wanted to drag the lad through the system again, it would do no good. He didn’t do anything illegal, strictly speaking.”
Albus nodded.
He would much rather Harry had not acted pre-emptively against any that might attempt to break into the home of his muggle relatives, but it wasn’t as though he could blame him for doing so.
Still, he would be discussing the matter with the boy when the opportunity arose.
“So, this was nothing but an unfortunate accident?”
“Officially,” Alastor replied with a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
What Crabbe and Goyle had been thinking when they’d attempted to break into the Dursley home, Albus did not know, but they’d learned the hard way their efforts had been nothing short of foolish.
Even so, the fate of the two Death Eaters was the least of his worries.
“Draco is not in a good way. The Dark Lord has not taken his failing well.”
It had been three days ago that he had received that message from Severus, and Albus did not doubt that the man would remain within the walls of Malfoy Manor to heal and watch over his godson.
The headmaster could only imagine it what it was Draco had been subjected to, though it took little envisioning on his part to reach a conclusion.
Tom rarely strayed from his tried and tested means of punishing his followers for their perceived slights against him. No, his approach would prove to be as crude and unpleasant as ever.
Absentmindedly, he continued to stroke Fawkes’ plumage as he pondered the state of the war but was quickly pulled from those thoughts as he sensed Severus’s arrival.
At his behest, the exhausted man entered the office, his skin pale and drawn as he took a seat in the chair on the opposite side of the desk.
“He’ll live,” Severus sighed, “but if he fails again, he will wish he hadn’t.”
Albus nodded gravely.
He had considered letting Draco fulfil his duty to the Dark Lord, but it would quickly become known what had happened, and the boy would have no life to speak of when the war was over.
No, he must be deterred from his chosen path and done so with haste.
“You will not change his mind, Albus.” Severus spoke, evidently having been pondering the very same predicament. “His devotion to Lucius and fear of the Dark Lord will not allow him to do so. He will try again, and his desperation will make him reckless.”
“I fear it already has,” Albus sighed as he placed an empty bottle of mead on the desk between them. “This was a gift intended for me by Horace, but…”
“He opened it for himself,” Severus interjected knowingly.
“He did and was most fortunate that he could detect the feintest aroma of the poison within. Had he not, he would be dead.”
“Or you would.”
“Indeed.”
Severus shook his head.
“This madness must end, Headmaster. You…”
“Are not long for this world already, but if I can help him, I must. He is just a scared boy, Severus…”
“Who has made his choice. He is no longer a child, and nor is Potter for that matter. In a matter of months, both will be of age and fighting on opposite sides of a war that you will no longer be a part of. I will continue playing my part, but if it comes to it…”
He broke off once more and stood.
“You cannot save everyone, Headmaster, and we both know that there is only one who can end this war for the good of everyone else. You are already dead, and I will be most fortunate to survive what is to come, but we are only two of many who are unlikely to see what is on the other side. I implore you to do what you must where Draco is concerned or it will either be the Dark Lord or Potter who will do so when you no longer can.”
He left the office without saying another word, and Albus deflated in his chair. Severus was right, of course, but Albus had held onto the last slither of hope that there was something he could do for his wayward charge.
Perhaps, once more as it had been many times throughout his life, that hope had been misplaced, after all.
(Break)
It was a testament to state of the country that when he’d arrived in Diagon Alley, Harry had found it to be even emptier than when he’d visited back in September.
Only a few shops and Gringotts had been open, with most others having been boarded up, each with a familiar note declaring the intention of the owner to operate an owl order service only for the foreseeable future. Fortunately, Hary had managed to gather the last of his presents with a visit to Quality Quidditch Supplies, and a local enchanter who’d been most helpful in assisting Harry with gifts for Hermione and Mr and Mrs Weasley.
With his purchases stowed away in his trunk, he’d seen no reason to linger in the alley, and took his leave of it vis The Leaky Cauldron, left in no doubt that every step he took was being watched closely.
Not that he would be recognised.
He’d taken the precaution of disguising himself well enough before leaving Grimmauld Place. Still, he could not ignore the eyes he could feel trailing him. Nonetheless, Harry saw no one, but was taking no chances, and vanished within the folds of his cloak upon entering muggle London to make his way towards St Mungo’s, which he found with little difficulty.
Ensuring his disguise remained in place, he entered, and was taken aback by just how full the waiting area was. Many appeared to not be suffering with any ailment at all, but there were those whose plights were on display for all to see.
There was even an ancient woman with the handle of a teapot hanging out of her nose, and a man hunched over, refusing to disclose to the receptionist what had befallen him.
As he was helped towards an adjoining room, Harry approached the desk where another, middle-aged woman greeted him.
“Welcome to St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries,” She said tiredly. “How may I help you today?”
“I’m here to visit a friend of mine, Katie Bell.”
The woman frowned at him before consulting a sheet of parchment next to her.
“I’m afraid that Miss Bell is on the restricted list. Only approved visitors are allowed to see her. What is your name?”
Ensuring no one was paying him any heed, Harry removed his disguise with a wave of his hand over his face, and the woman’s eyes widened.
“M-Mr P-P…”
Harry placed a finger to his lips and shook his head.
The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself.
Understanding his predicament, the receptionist nodded before pointing towards the door behind her.
“You will find Miss Bell on the Derwent Ward on the third floor in room twenty-six. The lift just through the door will take you there.”
Harry nodded appreciatively before reapplying his disguise and entering the corridor, indeed finding the lift only a short distance away from the reception area.
Entering it, he found himself surrounded by a group of healers, their gazes roaming up and down his form, much like Madam Pomfrey when he found himself under her care, evidently looking to see what he was afflicted with.
“I’m just visiting.”
Immediately, they lost interest in him, and Harry gratefully left the lift when it reached the third floor.
“Room twenty-six,” he murmured to himself, knocking on the door as he reached it.
It was opened by a woman he didn’t recognise, but there was an undeniable familiarity to her, an uncanny resemblance to her daughter that was unmistakeable.
“Hello, Mrs Bell. I’m here to visit Katie.”
She eyed him questioningly until Harry once more removed his disguise, and her eyes widened in recognition.
“Harry Potter,” she whispered. “Katie has told us so much about you. Please, come in.”
“Thank you,” he offered politely, stepping into the room to find a pale Katie staring at him, along with a rather burly man who would not look out of place on a broom and wielding a beater’s bat.
Before he could say anything, however, Katie’s mother had managed to pull herself from her stupor and wrapped her arms around him.
“Thank you, Harry,” she whispered emotionally. “For saving her life.”
In truth, Harry wasn’t certain that was so. Katie may well have survived the curse without his intervention, but the effects would certainly have been much worse had he not intervened.
He offered Katie’s mother a smile before his hand was all but crushed in the massive paw of Katie’s father.
“Aye, thank you, lad. Thank god you were there.”
Harry did not know what to say, but nodded once more, doing his utmost not to feel quite awkward at the praise being bestowed upon him.
“How are you feeling, Katie?” he asked.
“Better than I was, but not great,” the girl sighed tiredly. “At least I’m not throwing up blood anymore.”
“Sounds fun,” Harry deadpanned as he took a seat next to her.
She truly looked quite unwell and was evidently not sleeping much. The bags under her eyes were prominent, and not only was she pale, but her skin was also clammy. Whatever curse had been imbued to the necklace had been most unpleasant with only one outcome in mind when it was created.
“Not so much,” Katie snorted. “If you think I look like shit now, you should’ve seen me last week when my ears wouldn’t stop bleeding. Just about everything you could imagine was bleeding at some point or other.”
“Too much information, Katie,” her mother chided lightly.
“It’s only Harry,” the girl said dismissively. “I’ve seen him with no bones in his arm, and when he fell off his broom when the dementors were at Hogwarts. There’s not much dignity between Quidditch players.”
“I still wish Wood had some,” Harry grumbled. “I did not need to see his bare arse when Fred and George stole his clothes and towel.”
Katie giggled, though grimaced as she held her ribs.
“Or when Alicia stole yours.”
“That was her? I thought it was twins.”
“It was her,” Katie said with a grin. “She loves telling the story of how she stole Harry Potter’s towel.”
He could only shake his head in response as he took her hand.
“But you’re okay?”
Katie shrugged.
“Honestly, Harry, I’m not sure. The aurors have been in and out of here, but I don’t remember anything after I went into the bathroom in the pub. After that, I just remember it feeling like everything was on fire, and your voice. I remember feeling something cold, and the burning stopped.”
The women’s bathroom.
Harry knew for certain that the women’s bathroom had the very same charms on it that the girl’s dormitories did in Hogwarts to prevent boys from entering them.
If that was so, and Katie was in the bathroom when she’d likely been placed under the Imperius Curse, it had been a female who’d given her the necklace.
But who?
Only a handful of people came to mind, and none made sense. Why would Bellatrix want to give Katie a cursed necklace? No, that wasn’t her style, and nor was it Voldemort’s.
He took pride in murdering his victims, not handing them cursed items, and given that the necklace had been wrapped, he doubted that Katie was the intended target.
Then who?
Already, he had more questions than answers, but for now, they could wait until he had the time to ponder them. No, he was here to visit his friend, and as he gave Katie’s hand a squeeze, it was returned weakly.
She would not be returning to Hogwarts any time soon, if at all, and was fortunate that she yet breathed.
Still, many things were amiss about the entire incident, and Harry was determined to get to the bottom of it.
“Well, you’re still here,” he offered comfortingly, squeezing her hand once more.
“Thanks to you,” Katie sighed. “Thank you, Harry.”
Once more, he felt just a little awkward by the gratitude, but he understood. For Harry, finding himself in life-threatening situations and being injured, usually almost fatally was nothing new, but for Katie and her family, it was.
Even so, it should never have happened, and Katie should not be suffering as she was now. Someone knew something about what had occurred, and Harry would discover the truth of the matter.
Whoever was responsible would not get away with it.
(Break)
It was nothing short of a relief to be out of the castle. Since returning in September, the tension among the students had been impossible to ignore. Whether it was in the classroom, at mealtimes, and even on the Quidditch pitch, there was an undeniable atmosphere of mistrust, suspicion, and even outright hostility.
Nothing untoward had happened, not yet at least, but Ron could feel it brewing.
Each day, the students would wait with bated breath for the arrival of the morning post so that they may peruse the newspaper, each of them visibly relaxing when there was no word of an attack the previous day.
That relief, however, did not last and was quickly replaced with the tension that had settled over them.
The Hufflepuffs in particular were less friendly than they had been. With what had happened to Susan and Amelia Bones, they were very much keeping themselves to themselves, though their disdain for the Slytherins was apparent.
The Ravenclaws had never been the most outgoing of houses, and as ever, they chose to stay out of any unpleasantness altogether.
The Slytherins had taken to moving around the castle in groups for their own protection, but it was clear there was a divide in the house of those openly though quietly supporting the Dark Lord, and those distancing themselves from it as much as they could being clad in the green and silver of Salazar Slytherin.
His own house, well it was difficult to say what had happened.
Without Fred, George, two of the three chasers and the likes of Mclaggen, there was a rather large void that had yet to be filled. Ron’s biggest concern, however, was Harry.
The boy had changed so much during the course of the summer, and he felt as though he’d barely seen him at all outside of their lessons together.
He was busy with the rigorous Quidditch training Katie was putting them through, and Hermione had taken her ‘E’ in Defence Against the Dark Arts personally.
She spent more time in the library than ever, not seeming to notice Hary’s absences.
Ron knew that he woke early and left the dormitory before anyone else, and often did not return until the early hours of the morning. What he was doing, the redhead didn’t know, but he did wonder if it had something to do with what had happened at the home of his muggle relatives.
According to The Daily Prophet, it had suddenly exploded, killing Crabbe and Goyle Sr.
The Ministry was keeping tight-lipped about the circumstances, what caused it, and why the two men were there, but it didn’t take someone of Hermione’s intellect to figure it out.
They’d been watching the house, and well, Ron suspected Harry or someone else had set a trap for anyone nosy enough to look for the Dursleys. Not that Ron cared about the muggles or Crabbe and Goyle, but he didn’t want Harry to get into trouble.
His father had assured him that he wouldn’t, but after what had happened the summer before their fifth year, Ron wasn’t convinced.
“Why are you looking out of the window?” Hermione asked, pulling him from his thoughts.
“Just waiting for Harry.”
“You do realise he’ll be coming through the floo, don’t you?”
Ron cursed under his breath, ignoring the snicker from the bushy-haired girl.
“I didn’t really think of that. Usually, Dumbledore brings him, or we he have to get him.”
“Well, he is here.”
“Harry!”
Before he’d barely crossed the threshold, Hermione appeared to be attempting to choke the life out of him, and for his part, he thumped his friend on the shoulder.
Although they hadn’t seemed to see each other much since the schoolyear had begun, it wasn’t as though they’d drifted apart in any noticeable way. The three of them were still the best of friends, but each chose to spend their time differently.
He would not deny that he’d been disappointed by Harry’s decision to longer play Quidditch, but Ron understood it. There were other things that required his focus, for now, at least, though he was hopeful that maybe one day, the two of them would play together again.
“Oh, Harry dear, Arthur said that you’d arrived,” his mother gushed as they entered the kitchen.
She too attempted to squeeze the air from his lungs, and Harry endured it as he always had, offering her an easy smile as he returned the gesture.
“Well, at least you are eating,” she commented before placing him one of the chairs at the table next to Fred and George, who’d been plied with food since they’d arrived an hour prior. “Young men should not be left to their own devices. They forget to eat and take care of themselves.”
The twins shot Harry a conspiratorial wink.
“You two spend too much time in that shop and not eating.”
“We eat, Mum.”
“We do sell a line of sweets.”
Their mother shot them a look of disapproval before smiling as she nodded towards the window.
“It’s snowing,” she declared. “Oh, my. ARTHUR! PERCY IS HERE, AND HE BROUGHT THE MINISTER WITH HIM!”
She hurriedly removed her apron as she rushed from the room, and Ron did not miss Harry deflating.
“He was bound to catch up with me eventually,” he grumbled.
“I did warn you,” Hermione sighed.
His father was not so pleased by Percy’s arrival as he entered the room, but held his tongue as the backdoor opened, admitting the third Weasley son, and another man Ron had seen plastered all across The Daily Prophet.
“Oh, Percy, it is good to see you!”
He looked to be distinctly uncomfortable as he found himself in his mother’s arms but offered no protest.
“You do have my apologies for the intrusion,” Rufus Scrimgeour offered as he removed his snow-covered scarf, “but when young Percival explained how you spent your Christmases together, well, I had to see it for myself. That is quite the spread.”
“Thank you, Minister. Please, do feel free to help yourself.”
“I shall, I shall,” the man replied, his gaze flitting between the plates of food and Harry, who stood, his expression far from being as welcoming as his mother’s.
“Let’s get it over with then,” his friend huffed irritably. “Let’s not pretend you’re here for any other reason than to turn me into your little mascot.”
The kitchen fell silent, and Harry left through the backdoor, not waiting for Scrimgeour as he walked towards the orchard. With only a nod, the Minister of Magic followed, and the twins snorted amusedly.
“Bloody prat,” George muttered.
Ron did not know how Scrimgeour expected his conversation with Harry to go, but he did not think it would end favourably for the man.
“You should not speak about the Minister like that!” Percy chastised.
“Give it a rest, Percy,” Fred said dismissively. “You might be happy having your tongue up his…”
“That is enough!” their mother warned.
Neither said another word, but Ron knew it wouldn’t last. No, it wouldn’t be long before Percy said something the twins did not appreciate, and it wasn’t as though Fred and George were known for their tolerance of their older brother and his ways.
Still, Ron shared a look of concern with the equally troubled Hermione, both waiting for the inevitable unpleasantness to unfold.
(Break)
“I would’ve thought that me ignoring your letters would be enough of a hint that I have no interest in what you are offering.”
Rufus paused briefly before standing next to the boy, well, for now he was a boy, but he was on the cusp of manhood.
“I only asked for a meeting with you, Mr Potter.”
“But we both know what you want. You want me to act as though we are the best of friends, that I am working with you to get rid of Voldemort once and for all, just as a publicity stunt. You will tell me that the people look up to me, that it will be good for their morale to see the two of us working together, but that isn’t what you want at all. You want me to stay out of the affairs of the Ministry of Magic whilst you try and win the war against him.”
Rufus frowned at his rather accurate assessment of the situation, and he eyed the boy thoughtfully.
He’d seen Potter during his trial, and the impression he’d gotten of him was that he was meek, inexperienced, and relied on Dumbledore to hold his hand through the entire process of facing the Wizengamot.
That, however, was a far cry from the young man standing at his side now.
This Harry Potter was much more self-assured, had grown significantly in the intervening months both in personality and physically.
Before Rufus could offer a response, however, he spoke once more.
“It is in bad taste that you came here tonight, and using Percy as a scapegoat…”
He broke off and shook his head disappointedly.
“Even for a politician, that is disgusting behaviour, but believe me, Minister, I have no intention of interfering in Ministry affairs, so long as you stay out of mine. You think you can beat him, but you can’t, and that isn’t me being an arrogant little shit thinking I am better than anyone else, it is just the truth. I will not be your poster boy, and I will not be doing you any favours by showing up occasionally to kiss your arse for everyone else to see. I’m not going to play political games because none of this is a game. This is my life that is hanging in the balance, and you can say and do whatever you like, but we both know he is going to come for me. When he does, I can assure you that I will put an end to what begun the night he killed my parents, one way or the other. What comes after, I will handle it.”
He turned to leave and Rufus shook his head.
“What about the people, Harry?” he asked. “Don’t they deserve to see that everything is being done…”
“You mean the same people who branded me a liar, who dragged my name through the mud because of the Ministry of Magic? See, the difference between you and me is that you want to pander to everyone else for your own political reasons, but I don’t give a shit about any of that. All I want is for him to die. You keep playing your games, Minister. There won’t be any winners.”
He continued on his way, and Rufus was taken aback, not only by Potter’s words, but by the truth in them. He could feel it settle within him most unsettlingly and shuddered as a wave of coldness washed over him that had little to do with the chill in the air.
“No, Percy, they didn’t mean it!”
He frowned at the sight of Percy Weasley storming from the house, covered in gravy and with a pair of sprouts stuck in his nostrils, but the fallout of the redheaded family was the least of Rufus’s worries.
He’d thought that finding a way to speak with Harry Potter in person was the key to solving one of the ever-growing problems he was facing in office, but if anything, his concern had only grown.
Not only would Potter not work with him, but the boy had also made it clear that he had no intention of steering clear of the war as it continued to unfold.
It was most troubling to say the least, and more so was that he did not doubt that Harry Potter had meant every word he’d said. He would be fighting against the Dark Lord, and it seemed that he had every intention of doing so by himself.
Another wave of coldness washed over him, and Rufus Scrimgeour shivered once more, foreseeing some most troubling times ahead if Harry Potter would indeed go rogue.