Preventative Measures
“Potter, this all sounds very convoluted.”
“But you cannot deny it is the only explanation that makes any sense,” Harry returned. “Believe me, Professor, I do not like this any more than any of you, but he is determined to take control of Hogwarts. It is best for him to believe he has gotten what he wants rather than the alternative. His intention is for Snape to be headmaster under the guise of serving him.”
“We cannot allow it,” Professor Sprout protested.
“Professor, I do not think we have a choice,” Harry said sadly. “He will not stop until the castle belongs to him, and with him already in control of the Ministry, he will find a way of affecting things within these walls. It would be better if it could be prevented, but he will find a way unless we beat him at his own game.”
Sprout shared a look with her colleagues who’d been summoned to return, but there were some noticeable absences not among them.
Slughorn wasn’t here, and neither was Madam Hooch, Professor Babbage, and Professor Babbling.
That was four missing, though Harry could not account for it.
He suspected there was more terrible news on the horizon regarding them, especially if Voldemort intended to place Death Eaters here posing as instructors.
It was a most unsettling thought, as was the plan he’d proposed, but he could not see the castle fall into his hands.
“I think Mr Potter might be onto something,” Professor Flitwick spoke up. “It will ensure that none of us are at risk, and if there is one person we can be certain is not working with the Dark Lord, it is him.”
“I quite agree.”
All eyes came to rest upon the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, who seemed to have chosen this moment to join them in whatever capacity he could via the portrait.
“Albus,” Professor Sprout whispered.
The man within the frame offered the woman a smile, though it certainly lacked the same warmth and sincerity it had in life.
“Pomona,” he greeted her. “You must put your faith in Harry, just as you did me. It will be him who will keep the students and all of you safe. You will be in the very best of hands.”
“Hear, hear,” Everard called.
“Albus is right,” Phineas Nigellus Black declared.
Even so, the other professors did not seem convinced, and Harry understood their reticence. Nonetheless, he knew his course of action was what was best for Hogwarts, for the students, the professors, him, and even Severus Snape.
“You have my support, Mr Potter,” Professor Flitwick spoke up. “Your plan is risky, but the only one we have to ensure the safety of the school.”
“I’m with you, Harry,” a teary-eyed Hagrid declared.
The other professors followed suit, and eventually, even professor Sprout nodded.
“I won’t let any of you down,” Harry promised. “I will not let any harm come to the students.”
It was a bold promise to make, but one he intended to keep.
Already, his work had begun securing the castle the moment he’d been sworn in as the new headmaster; something that not even Snape knew.
As far as he truly believed, and Voldemort would be able to glean from the man, his plan had been entirely successful, and with Professor McGonagall’s death, Snape had succeeded her.
Now, Harry must wait and see what it was Voldemort intended on doing now he believed he controlled Hogwarts, and then he’d be able to react accordingly.
Still, not matter what he chose to do, or what Snape implemented, they had no true power where Hogwarts and it students were concerned. No, in what Harry credited himself with as a stroke of genius on his part, the one person who could never be compromised held Hogwarts, which was now the final bastion against the second coming of Lord Voldemort in Britain.
It was a most troubling thought, and one that made Harry realise that the time to merely be reactive had come and gone with Dumbledore.
Now was the time to take the fight to Riddle and his ilk, and with all that had befallen those opposing the Dark Lord these past months, Harry knew it was up to him to do just that.
“Come Death, come,” he murmured, basking in the cold magic that filled his veins at his declaration, waiting to be unleashed upon his enemies.
All of them.
(Break)
He had been watching his target closely for several days now, learning his habits, mannerisms, and even his pattern of speech. Fo the most part, Percival Graves, like most aurors, was a creature of habit, but certainly a loner outside his work hours.
He wasn’t married, did not have a girlfriend, or even a social life for that matter. His parents were dead, and he had no siblings, but a name that still carried some weight to it given his family history.
In all, he was the perfect target for Gellert, and as he approached the unsuspecting young man, Percival did not even flinch as the cursed blade was pressed into the back of his neck.
He died instantly with only a gurgle of protest, and Gellert set to work harvesting his blood before using it to enter the man’s apartment.
When he was within, his efforts continued, ensuring he took anything of use from Percival before ridding himself of the corpse by burning it.
Now, for all intents and purposes, he was Percival Graves, rookie auror for MACUSA, and in the most advantageous of positions to forge his own path to power.
It would take considerable time and patience for his efforts to bear fruit, but Gellert did not doubt that it would prove to be worth it in the end.
Yes, such a vision as the one he shared with Albus could not be rushed, and now, his work could truly begin.
(Break)
She would not pretend that she had been able to truly enjoy her shopping trip, but Hermione would not deny that a short break from the wizarding world had been a most welcome distraction.
Reluctantly, she had used some of the money Harry had insisted on giving her to buy some essentials for herself; some new clothes and hygiene products, and even some shoes and underwear, all the while, unable to fully escape the thoughts that continued to haunt her.
What had happened at the wedding was something she was still processing. It still felt as though it was the most unpleasant of vivid nightmares, and yet, she knew it had happened as she remembered it.
Ginny, Bill, Fleur, Mrs Weasley, and many others had been slaughtered, yet, somehow, Hermione had escaped unscathed.
Thanks to Harry.
He’d protected her in ways that she’d never seen, wielded magic she’d never experienced, showing a side to him Hermione had never witnessed.
He’d killed several of the Death Eaters and had not batted an eyelid at doing so.
Perhaps such behaviour would be concerning if she did not know him so well, and maybe it was something else she wouldn’t be able to comprehend happening had she not seen it for herself.
She shook her head of those thoughts.
She would not question Harry nor what he’d done. It would be difficult to come to terms with, but ultimately, they were at war. People would die, and she would rather it wasn’t anyone else she cared about.
Still, it had been the most sobering of experiences, but Hermione was grateful that Harry had been there.
She could only imagine how much worse it would’ve been if he hadn’t.
“Did you have fun?” he asked tiredly as she entered the kitchen laden with the bags she’d accumulated.
“I wouldn’t say fun,” Hermione sighed, frowning as she caught sight of his expression. “What’s happened?”
He released a deep breath as he shook his head.
“Too many things,” he murmured, “but the most pressing thing is that McGonagall was murdered inside Hogwarts today by Wormtail.”
Hermione was simply lost for words, could not even begin to voice her thoughts, and she lowered herself into one of the chairs at the table.
“When will it all stop, Harry?” she choked.
She was aware of his arm wrapping around her shoulder and even crying into his chest.
Her eyes were sore from all the tears she’d shed these past days, and yet, there was more to come.
“It’s just not fair,” she whispered.
“No, it isn’t.”
“What will happen?”
He released another deep breath.
“Well, Riddle thinks he has taken Hogwarts for himself. He’s going to put Snape in charge of the castle, and we both know he has no choice but to obey him if he is to keep his cover.”
“Harry, we can’t…”
“I know, and I have already done what I can to make sure that doesn’t happen. As far as Voldemort, and even Snape will know, he is the headmaster of Hogwarts.”
“But he isn’t?”
“No, he isn’t,” Harry snorted humourlessly. “I am.”
Hermione felt her eyes bulge in her socket.
“You?”
“Believe me, it is as ridiculous as it sounds, but it means that as long as I am the headmaster, Riddle cannot take Hogwarts, not the way he wants.”
It made sense in a very odd and twisted way.
“We can’t go back there.”
“Not as students. I wasn’t going to anyway, and since you are here, there are things that you need to know. Somehow, Dumbledore seems to have predicted this happening, and he left something for me to give to you. I think page fifty-four will be an interesting read.”
He placed what appeared to be a collection of children’s stories on the table, and were it not for his most grave expression, Hermione would be certain he was pulling her leg.
He wasn’t, and as he stood, he offered her an apologetic smile.
“There’s somewhere I need to go, and it is best that you do not leave the house until we get a better understanding of what is happening out there. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Kreacher?”
The unpleasant elf appeared with a gentle crack and offered Harry a bow.
“Master Harry called for Kreacher?”
“I need you to look after Hermione while I am away. No one outside of Tonks or Lupin are to enter this house if they try, understood?”
“Of course, Master. Kreacher will look after the young miss.”
Harry nodded appreciatively as he summoned a jacket.
“Where are you going?” Hermione asked.
“I’ll explain it when I am back,” he promised. “Read the book, Hermione. You’re smart enough to put most of it together yourself. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he reiterated.
Only a moment later, the front door closed, and Hermione felt just that little more vulnerable without him being here.
“Miss will be safe with Kreacher,” the elf spoke solemnly. “Kreacher will not let her come to any harm.”
He vanished with a click of his fingers, and Hermione wondered what was behind Harry’s sudden change in demeanour.
With the death of Professor McGonagall on her mind, along with all the other losses she’d suffered recently, she wasn’t certain she’d even be able to focus on the book Harry had left for her, and yet, she knew she needed another distraction from the heartache and pain that seemed to constantly be renewed at every turn.
Miss Granger,
I am certain you will find a particular story most enlightening. Trust in him and what he does. Harry will be the one to lead the fight against the prevailing darkness.
It was a short, succinct note from the man, and even somewhat ominous, and as Hermione turned to the page Harry suggested, it only became all the stranger still.
(Break)
“They do not believe you had any involvement in McGonagall’s death, and none of them are willing to take the position. They are talking about closing the school.”
That had been the message Severus had received from Potter, and now, he found himself in the office that had belonged to both and Albus and Minerva with Pomona and Filius, both of whom shaken by the latter’s death.
“Even though I was Minerva’s deputy, I am not keen on the idea of succeeding her, especially with the current situation the Ministry finds itself in. He will use my blood status as an excuse to impose himself further on the castle.”
“I quite agree,” Pomona spoke, “and it is not a position that I have ever coveted. I am an educator, Severus, and as the next senior member of staff after the two of us, it should be you to take it. We know of your…position within his ranks, and that this was his intention all along. We are choosing to believe Albus and Potter that you are working against him. Well, we will soon see, I suppose.”
Her words were ominous, and even a little threatening, and Severus merely nodded in response.
“I will do all I can to ensure the safety of the students.”
Both nodded in response before leaving the office, and Severus sank into the chair belonging to his predecessors, feeling the weight of the responsibility already resting heavily upon him.
“You should inspect the castle, Headmaster,” Everard spoke. “You must ensure that the perpetrator is no longer within the walls, and that he cannot get back in.”
“He is not here,” Severus murmured.
Pettigrew was already back at Voldemort’s side, revelling in the plaudits of a job well done.
“Good. The swine should be hung, drawn and quartered for what he did.”
“I do not doubt he will be,” Severus replied, grimacing at the thought of what the rat would be subjected to when Potter inevitably caught up with him.
For all he’d done, there was no suffering for Pettigrew that would ever be enough, but Potter would undoubtedly do his damndest to inflict every ounce of agony, misery, and suffering he could conceive in that twisted mind of his.
(Break)
“That’s quite some storm.”
Ariana nodded as she peered out of the window.
She’d always been fascinated by storms. For her, they seemed to signal the beginning of something new, and with it hovering on the edge of the village, almost immediately over where she knew Harry’s house was, she suspected this one might just pertain to him.
“Harry’s back.”
“He is?”
Her mother always seemed to be much calmer whenever Harry was around. According to her, the entire village was, though that did mean they would likely receive more visitors in the form of Cantankerus Nott, who was determined to speak with Harry, Orion Black, and even Henry Potter.
All three had been asking about Harry for more than two years now, and soon enough, Ariana did not doubt they would get their wish. All three were powerful, influential men, after all.
“Well, I will get dinner on then,” her mother declared, smiling for the first time in several since Albus had left.
He had written informing them that he’d since Paris and even made friends with a phoenix that had yet to leave his side. It was something of a family trait. Although she’d been young, Ariana remembered that her father had told her of an uncle who’d had a phoenix named Pyro.
It seemed now Albus had found one too.
Ariana would like a companion of sorts. She’d considered asking her mother for a pet, but she wasn’t sure what she’d like.
Before she could ponder it, however, a knock sounded at the door, and her mother tutted as she answered it.
“I don’t know how many times I have told you, Harry, there is no need for you to knock,” she chided the young man lightly.
He looked rather tired as he entered the kitchen, but offered Ariana a smile nonetheless, and she eagerly threw her arms around him, noticing that in all the time she’d known him, he’d barely changed at all.
Maybe he’d gotten a little taller and broader, but he’d not aged, not the same way Albus had, and she was certain they were around the same age.
How old was Harry?
“Dinner will be ready shortly,” her mother declared.
Harry rubbed his hands together in anticipation, and Ariana rolled her eyes at him.
He enjoyed her mother’s cooking, and the woman liked to cook for him.
“How is your work going?”
“You’ll have to ask my mother.”
“Her work is going well. Ariana is a very talented witch.”
“You have to say that.”
“I do not,” her mother denied. “You’ve only had your wand for a little under three years, and you are thriving. Your charms work is already beyond OWL level.”
“Maybe I just have a good teacher.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Harry chuckled, “but your mother seems to have a thing for producing talented witches and wizards. Look at Albus and Abe.”
Her mother grimaced at the mention of her eldest son.
“He’s not back then?” Harry sighed.
Her mother shook her head.
“He wrote to tell us he’d been to Paris and he has a phoenix now.”
Harry’s eyes widened at the revelation as he shook his head.
“It is quite an honour to have a creature like that choose you as a companion.”
“I’m surprised you don’t have a phoenix,” Ariana mused aloud.
“No, a phoenix would not choose me,” Harry replied ominously. “My magic is not compatible with them.”
“Mine is!” Ariana said in realisation. “My wand has a phoenix feather.”
“Then maybe you will have a phoenix one day.”
Ariana nodded thoughtfully.
“What would you have as a companion?” she asked curiously.
Harry smiled fondly as he folded his arms.
“What makes you think I don’t already?”
“Do you?”
“Maybe.”
Ariana nudged him with her elbow, and he chuckled amusedly.
“She’s a little too big to be in your mother’s kitchen. I imagine she would throw that pan of food at me.”
“Wait, you really have one?”
“I do, but she’s a little shy, and different to any other creature you will see.”
“What is it?”
Even her mother had stopped doing what she was to look at the young man questioningly.
“Well, you’ll have to come into the garden if you want to see her.”
Ariana immediately felt a familiar fear grip her at the thought of doing so, and even Harry taking her hand did not fully calm her.
“You’re doing really well,” he said sincerely, “and you’re comfortable in your home. It is a big step, I know, and I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for, but I think you are.”
Ariana swallowed deeply.
He truly believed in her, and despite the setbacks she had experienced, how difficult it had ben for her to get to where she was, Harry’s belief had never wavered.
“She would like to meet you.”
“You can’t blackmail me,” Ariana huffed.
“I know, but it will be worth it.”
Ariana looked towards her mother, who was not able to hide her nervousness, but she nodded encouragingly.
“Will you come with me?” she asked, her voice catching in her throat.
She did not like feeling vulnerable and had not felt it as she did now for some time, but this was part of what it was like having Harry around. He brought her comfort and equally pushed her to her limits.
“Of course,” he agreed, standing and offering his hand.
After only hesitating for a moment, Ariana accepted it and took a deep breath.
“Just the garden?”
“Just the garden,” Harry promised.
She released the deep breath she’d been holding and followed Harry towards the door, her legs shaking, and the rest of her body following as he opened it.
To Ariana, it was as though she was peering down a long and narrow tunnel, that the fence at the far end of the humble garden was several miles away rather than the few dozen feet she knew it to be.
“One step at a time,” Harry encouraged. “Just like when you came downstairs.”
Ariana nodded, though she closed her eyes as she stepped onto the damp patio. It was no longer raining, but she could hear the thunder still rumbling in the distance. The first thing she noticed, however, was just how fresh the air felt on her skin, how her hair rippled in the breeze, and how tightly she was holding onto Harry’s hand.
“You did it.”
She wiped away a tear with a trembling hand as she nodded. She was far from comfortable being outside in the open, and wondered how Harry could be so calm when she was struggling to keep her composure.
“Would you like to meet her?”
“Yes.”
He offered her another encouraging smile before he whistled in a low tone. At first, nothing seemed to happen, but then Ariana felt it; that familiar comforting cold washing over her as a black mass appeared in what appeared to be a plume of grey smoke.
“A thestral, I should’ve known,” her mother said amusedly from where she was standing at the backdoor.
She had seen Harry’s patronus, so knew what a thestral looked like, and the creature before her was that very image, only as dark as the night sky rather than bright white she was used to.
Remaining still as the large creature pawed at the ground, Ariana froze as it looked at her with eyes much like the man who’d summoned her.
“Easy,” Harry murmured, eliciting a snort from the beast, but it listened to him, nonetheless, and approached slowly with its head bowed.
With the fondest of smiles, Harry began to pet her, but when Ariana reached out a tentative hand, it passed straight through the thestral as though she wasn’t there at all.
“How strange,” Harry mused aloud. “Maybe it is only my magic that can interact with her.”
Ariana nodded.
She could feel the cold of the thestral, though it did not seem to be solid at all. No, it was made of the very same smoke it had appeared among.
“Is she real?”
“She’s not like other thestrals,” Harry explained gently. “She is a unique creature made entirely of magic, a part of me in a way, but her own thing entirely at the same time. She has the same will as any other creature, more really if you think about it. She does not have to obey me but chooses to remain nearby. She feeds off my magic, and I feed off hers.”
Ariana would not even pretend to understand the creature itself, let alone the bond it undoubtedly shared with Harry. If anything, she suspected she was witnessing something unique to him and whatever this magic was.
Still, she was in a state of awe, and more so as she took to the air with a few powerful flaps of her wings before vanishing.
“That was amazing,” she whispered.
“It was,” her mother agreed, and Ariana became acutely aware once more that she outside.
“Come on,” Harry urged. “You’ve done really well.”
She was relieved as he led her back into the house, and although it had not been easy, she was pleased that she had trusted him. Seeing the thestral had been worth it by itself but knowing that not everything beyond her home wished her harm was the best of realisations.
“We will keep working on it,” Harry promised, “and I will see what I can do about Albus. I’ll be around more often as much as I can.”
“You still haven’t found the man tat murdered your parents.”
Hary shook his head, and that tiredness that seemed to be plaguing him when he’d arrived was etched into his features.
“No, but I will,” he said determinedly.
He said it with all the conviction of someone who did not doubt himself, and yet, Ariana had never seen so much weighing him down. Still, no matter what it was, if there was anyone that could navigate anything thrown his way, it was Harry Peverell.
(Break)
Ministry Introduces Compulsory Education for All School Age Children
By Rita Skeeter
In what can only be described as a rather bold move, interim Minister of Magic, Pius Thicknesse, introduced a bill that ensures all magical children residing in Britain between the ages of 11-17, are to receive a formal education at an approved establishment.
With Hogwarts being the premier school of choice, it is expected that it will have a much larger influx come September.
Newly appointed headmaster, Severus Snape, who was promoted to the post after Minerva McGonagall decided to retire early after the death of Albus Dumbledore, had this to say.
“I support the Minister’s decision to implement a law that will see our youth suitably educated. I understand that a fund has been set up for those that cannot afford a place at Hogwarts without assistance, and we will welcome the new students eagerly.”
Minister Thicknesse is certainly determined to make waves whilst he holds office, and with such a motion being passed by the Wizengamot, it appears that there will be some most interesting months ahead of us.
Of all the things Hermione had expected to come from the fallout within the Ministry of Magic, she had not even considered this would be it. More puzzling still, she could not even begin to fathom why Voldemort would want to implement such thing.
On the surface, it appeared as though he was doing quite the favour for the most disadvantaged children in the magical community but that was not in the nature of the Dark Lord.
No, something else was undoubtedly afoot, and though it was frustrating, she could only wait and see what would come of it. As of now, what Voldemort was doing made little sense to her.
Besides, her mind was occupied with something else, and as she caught sight of the book Dumbledore had seen fit to leave her, she found the story Harry had urged her to read all the more curious.
The three brothers.
If it weren’t for the cloak Harry possessed, Hermione knew she would dismiss it entirely as a work of fantasy, but neither her friend nor headmaster were prone to flights of fancy, or gullible enough to believe such a thing without considerable proof, even if the entire affair was as troubling as it was seemingly ridiculous.
No, for Harry to insist she read it and for Dumbledore to ensure it found its way into her hands, she did not doubt that there was some provenance to it, despite how the story went against everything she believed in when it came to magic, and logic.
Death.
The three brothers had, according to the tale, tricked Death itself and claimed a reward each for doing so.
The cloak.
It had not taken her long perusing the Black library to find what she’d been looking for pertaining to invisibility cloaks. From what she knew of Harry’s, it had belonged to James Potter, and he’d been using it at Hogwarts more than two decades prior. Even if he’d been given it when it was new, by now, the charms and enchantments on it would have begun to fade years prior, but Harry’s cloak was though it had been made yesterday.
Was that enough to believe such a fantastical story?
Hermione did not know, but she would get the truth of the matter, and evidently sooner rather than later.
Harry looked tired as he entered the kitchen, and paused as took in the headline of The Daily prophet, frowning thoughtfully as he did so.
“I can’t make any sense of it either,” Hermione sighed.
“Well, I doubt it is for anything good, is it,” he grumbled in response. “What about this?”
He tapped his finger on the book of children’s tales and smirked as Hermione grimaced in response.
“Harry, I…”
“Find it impossible to believe that any of it could be true. I know, I wouldn’t believe it either if I hadn’t experienced it all for myself. My cloak…”
“Is an invisibility cloak, Harry. It doesn’t mean…”
She broke off almost hoping that he would say it was all a joke.
“Maybe,” he conceded as he drew his wand and placed it on the table. “This is the one I brought from Ollivander. Eleven- and three-quarter inches, holly, and with a phoenix feather from Fawkes.”
“From Fawkes? I didn’t know that.”
“Only me and Dumbledore do, and probably Voldemort. He would’ve worked it out. Anyway, that isn’t the point.”
He removed another wand from his other sleeve, this one paler than the first, intricately patterned, and stared at it reverently.
“Harry, you can’t expect me to believe that is the elder wand.”
“That’s exactly what it is, Hermione.”
He closed his eyes, and she felt the same, cold magic that she’d felt within the tent during the wedding, and just for a moment, when he opened them again, she was certain they were white.
“Harry…”
“Come on, there are some people I would like you to meet, and then somewhere I want to take you. You might not believe me now, but you will soon enough.”
His words were ominous, and though Hermione was struggling to digest what she was hearing let alone believe it, she followed him as he led her from the kitchen, wondering what else he could possibly have in store to prove that the tale of the three brothers was indeed true.
(Break)
To Ronald,
I don’t even know how to begin this letter.
Firstly, I would like to offer our most sincere condolences for your losses. I will not profess to have known your mother well, but your father and I have often worked together at the Ministry.
Truly, we are so very sorry.
We will be burying our Lavender in a few weeks’ time and would be honoured if you could be there for the service. She was deeply fond of you, Ronald, and we know it will have meant the world to her.
We understand you have your own arrangements to make, and we have no intention of intruding upon them, but we would be remiss in our duty as Lavender’s mother and father if we did not ask.
Our thoughts are with you,
John and Matilda Browne
“You really should go, Ron,” his father urged.
He shook his head.
“I was going to break up with her after the wedding,” he murmured.
“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t pay your respects. Both Lavender and her parents do not know that you were going to break things off.”
Ron shrugged.
He knew his father was right, but his mind was elsewhere. Perhaps it was a little selfish, but he was stuck on his own losses, the absences at the table impossible to miss.
The Burrow was quiet.
There was no sounds of his mother puttering around the house, cooking, cleaning, and calling for one or the other of his siblings, and there was no Ginny to find a way to irritate him.
He would give anything for either of them to be on his case.
Bill, he was used to the man being mostly absent, but that did not mean his loss hurt any less, and even the twins, who’d always been the ones they could rely on to lighten things were not themselves.
They visited regularly to check in on Ron, their father, and Charlie, who’d remained here since the wedding, but nothing was the same anymore, and Ron knew it would never be.
“What about mum, and Ginny, and Bill?” he asked.
His father swallowed deeply.
“I’ve already begun making the arrangements. Your mother will be buried with Fabian and Gideon, and both Bill and Ginny…”
He choked on his words and wiped away a wave of tears furiously as he cleared his throat.
“Bill and Ginny will be buried with the rest of the Weasley across the way,” he finished, pointing in the direction of hills in the distance.
Ron nodded as he stood and pulled his father into a tight embrace.
“Sorry, Dad,” he whispered, swallowing back his own tears.
“You have nothing to apologise for, Ron. The wedding was a terrible idea. We just wanted to make your brother happy.”
“And now he is dead.”
His father nodded.
“There will be more,” he predicted darkly, “but for us, for now, the war is over. I will not lose anyone else, Ron. The Weasleys have given more than enough.”
Ron said nothing in response.
He understood that this had broken his father, left him as little more than a shadow of his former self, but Ron was not thinking of hiding or letting those who’d killed his mother, sister, and brother get away with it.
No, when the time was right, he would ensure they were brought to justice, and he knew there was only one place he could be to see that he was the one to deliver it.
The Lestranges, Dolohov, Nott, Malfoy, Rookwood, Crouch, Pettigrew…
He did not know who personally had a hand in what happened, but to Ron, it didn’t matter.
Because of them, all of them in their own way, he’d had to look on helplessly as they’d been murdered in front of him, and Ron could not let that lie.
No, his father might be a broken man now but Ron would not be able to live with himself if he let what happened to his family lie without seeing that those responsible faced the consequences they deserved.
(Break)
It was strange to watch Hermione interacting with the portraits of the Peverells. She was indeed in a state of shock, but reacting exactly as Harry had anticipated by asking more questions than he’d be able to answer without the help of his ancestors.
Of course, she was still sceptical, and Hary perhaps thought that she believed he had either planned out an elaborate prank on her or had taken complete leave of her senses. Regardless, he felt better for having told her everything that had befallen him over the course of the last year.
“You have a very beautiful, intelligent, young woman here, Harry,” Antioch spoke up.
“Alright, you smarmy git, that’s enough out of you,” Harry grumbled. “You’re not wrong but you can give it a rest. You have to ignore him sometimes, Hermione. He likes to cause trouble.”
“That must be where you get it from,” the girl quipped, her gaze flitting between each of the portraits.
For the past few hours, they had patiently been answering whatever questions she’d asked, though all three refused to explain how it was they’d summoned Death initially, which was why Hary suspected she was still rather sceptical.
Not that he blamed her, and yet, he wanted her to believe him.
Hermione was the one person who’d never turned her back on him when just about everyone else had during the fiasco that had been the Triwizard Tournament.
“You’re not joking about any of this, are you?”
He shook his head as he met her gaze.
“No. I can’t take you to the other place to prove it is real, but there is something else I can do.”
He offered her his hand, and she eyed it worriedly for a moment, but proved why it was she had been chosen to be a Gryffindor when she’d arrived at Hogwarts some six years prior.
As his closed over hers, he apparated them away to a place that had become so familiar to him these past months.
“Where are we, Harry?” Hermione asked, shuddering at the coldness of the magic hanging over the village.
“Where it all began,” he answered as he took a knee, basking in the very same magic that seemingly made her so uncomfortable. “Come Death, come.”
There was little delay before he felt it approaching, and when he heard Hermione unleash a stuttered gasp, he knew that any doubt she may have been harbouring all but vanished at the appearance of the cloaked figure.
“Rise, Peverell,” Death instructed almost fondly.
He did so and gave Hermione’s hand a gentle squeeze, and she looked at him as tough she was doing so for the first time.
“It’s real,” she whispered.
“All of it.”
Hermione looked between him and the looming cloaked figure.
“Well, shit,” she cursed uncharacteristically, shuddering once more as another wave of magic washed over them.
“That about sums it up,” Harry snorted. “The power he knows not.”
He could see dozens upon dozens of questions waiting to escape her, but for the first time in all the time he’d known her, Hermione Granger was completely lost for words.
Instead, she merely nodded, and once more, Harry felt himself flooded with relief knowing that he would be able to rely on her as he always had, that he wasn’t alone in this entirely, and that maybe, just maybe, all was not as lost as it appeared to be.