Distractions and Plans
He could only look on in a sense of awe as the creatures danced across the sky, and barrelled through Knockturn Alley, bouncing from building to building, and showering the cobbled street in colourful sparks.
Of course, Ron had seen the spectacle at Hogwarts when Fred and George had decided they could no longer tolerate being in Umbridge’s presence, but that had been for the sake of fun for the twins whilst they departed.
This, however, was different.
It was as though the dragons, erumpents, nundus, and myriad of other creatures were responding to the anger and grief of their creators, their maws open in silent screams of a turmoil that could not be alleviated.
Were it not for just why they were doing this, for what was at stake, Ron might just find himself enjoying those garbed in dark robes arriving rather comical as the blundered in their efforts to restore order.
Unfortunately for them, Fred and George were no amateurs, and the fireworks would not be snuffed so easily. Adding to the already chaotic scene unfolding around them, the ministry stooges were set upon by the twins, who were pulling no punches.
The most unpleasant hexes and jinxes flew from the tips of their wands, hidden by the bright flames of the creatures, but the effects were undoubtedly felt by those falling victim to them.
Not wanting to be left out, Ron followed the lead of his brothers, adding his own blend of vicious spells into the mix, felling his own fair share of them.
They screamed in a mixture of agony and fury, and some even fled instead of fulfilling their duty, deciding they were out of their depths.
Still, enough remained behind for Ron, Fred, and George to claim a pound of flesh for themselves, and even more arrived in the form of other robed figures, these ones sporting the masks of the Death Eaters.
Ron’s nostrils flared as he spotted them, his mind cast back to the image of his mother cradling his dead sister, and only moments, her own broken body laid next to Ginny’s.
His eyes began to sting with unshed tears, and he unleashed a guttural roar; the sight of the masks alone releasing something primal from within him.
He’d always been hot-headed, as had most of his family, but the anger he felt now was like nothing else he’d ever experienced. Usually, Ron was one to shout to vent, perhaps kick something in frustration, but he’d never been a violent person.
Confronted with those who’d murdered, Bill, Ginny, and his mother, however, he felt nothing but the need to exact just that upon them, and he continued to do so with reckless abandon.
Not that the Death Eaters were so easily as troubled as their counterparts. No, they were accustomed to the chaos, thrived in it, why they had always been so successful.
As much as the situation had been in the favour of the Weasleys, that would be changing soon enough.
The fireworks would not last much longer, and checking his watch, Ron could see that they’d given Harry a good twelve minutes of time to work with, but now, to avoid the three of them being outnumbered significantly and facing insurmountable odds, they needed to retreat.
As much as Ron wanted to tear them limb from limb he knew he could not be so reckless about doing so. Still, the additional few spells he hurled towards them whilst withdrawing was worth it, especially as he witnessed one collapsing limply to the ground.
“I’ll give them credit, they’re determined,” Fred snorted humourlessly, watching as the Death Eaters who’d arrived attempted to break through the protections around the shop.
He took a sip of his tea as he tapped the doorknob with his wand, laughing as the masked man attempting to manipulate it screamed girlishly.
“What was that?” Ron asked, watching as he clutched at his face, writhing on the ground.
“Just a little powder we’ve been working on,” George explained. “Doxy eggs and dried bubotuber pus. A nasty combination that. His eyes will be burning for days.”
“Good,” Ron murmured, jolting slightly as a familiar patronus arrived.
“I got them out, and they are safe. I hope the three of you are too. Thank you.”
They breathed a collective sigh of relief.
All of their efforts had not been in vain, and they’d even been granted the opportunity to administer some justice of their own. It may not have been the plan that Fred and George had initially come up with when they’d began scouting Knockturn Alley, but they too seemed pleased by the success of it.
What they’d done had allowed Harry to ensure that others would not find themselves in the same position of the Weasleys, and though Ron’s empathy was lacking these days, it felt good that something so worthwhile had come from what they’d done.
With that in mind, he sent his response before shifting his focus back towards the Death Eaters, who were refusing to abandon their efforts.
“Would you like the next one, Ron?” Fred asked, nodding towards them.
(Break)
She had not come with the intention of involving herself, and even though Potter was proving himself to be the wizard she’d expected, she could not simply look on as he fended off dozens upon dozens of dementors, and Voldemort himself.
With a wave of her wand, she widened the gateway those being held captive were running towards, ensuring more could escape much quicker than they would if there was a melee squeezing themselves through it.
“Clever boy,” she praised as they began immediately vanishing, each clutching a portkey they’d been given. “Very clever boy.”
Gellert would be proud of how Potter was conducting himself, of how adept he was with the magic he wielded, especially being so young. It truly was quite the remarkable sight, but it might not be quite enough.
Riddle was in a towering rage, and with so many protections still surrounding the island under his control, it was only right that the odds were evened.
“Oops,” Cassiopeia giggled, watching as the Dark Lord’s expression shifted to one of surprise as he was tugged backwards into the collapsing roof, which he was promptly buried under.
Potter appeared to be confused by what had happened but was not foolish enough to remain behind to question it.
Still, Cassiopeia was curious about him. There was something about the young man that drew her to him, and making a snap decision, she grabbed hold of him as he activated his portkey, landing in a disorientated tangle of limbs with a dull thud only a moment later.
Potter scrambled to free himself, a confused expression marring his features.
There was something rather exciting at finding herself staring down the length of his wand, his expression just as confused as Voldemort’s had been as he’d been unexpectedly set upon.
“Come here!” Potter hissed irritably, dragging Cassie by the arm behind a nearby building.
Fortunately, the many people who were here were occupied with helping the new arrivals to what appeared to be a hidden community, so didn’t seem to notice the two of them.
“What the bloody hell were you playing at?”
She felt like a little girl being chastised by her father, and whenever she found herself in trouble, Cassiopeia could not help but laugh.
“I was just watching, at first,” she answered with a shrug. “It’s not as though he saw me, Potter.”
He shook his head in response and dragged a hand though his hair.
“You’re going to get yourself hurt or killed,” he murmured.
Cassie shook her head and cupped his cheek.
“There’s no need to worry about me, Potter. I have been in more life-threatening situations than you could ever imagine. Besides, I was bored, and you looked as though a bit of help wouldn’t go amiss. Do I not get a thank you?”
He shook his head and deflated.
“I can only imagine how much a pain in the arse you were back in the day.”
“Back in the day. You would not be saying that I am old, would you?”
The slightest of grins tugged at the corner of his lips.
“Not a word about this place,” he sighed tiredly. “These people are innocent.”
“My lips are sealed. I will see you around, Harry Potter.”
“I bloody well hope not. You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” he returned as he made his way towards the others.
“You have no idea,” Cassiopeia whispered before apparating away.
He truly was something of an enigma, not so unlike Gellert in his ways that the similarities were so difficult to ignore. Potter cared about the people, risked his own life to save them from certain doom, and yet, he seemed to lack the ambition to wield the power he possessed.
That was where he and Gellert were so unlike, where he and Voldemort were simply different.
No, Potter was an undeniably powerful man, incredibly gifted, but like no other powerful man she’d ever met.
An enigma indeed, and one she was keen to continue watching.
She placed the book she’d been reading on the table and took a sip of her tea.
The Potters had flitted between being a traditional, pureblood family to one with more liberal views throughout the many generations of them, and if truth be told, there were few of them of note.
Some had become rather well-known potioneers, and there had been a few savvy traders among them, but none like Harry Potter, none so talented, or deadly with a wand.
His grandfather, Fleamont, had been the exception, to a point. He’d been known to be quite the prolific duellist, but nothing compared to his grandson.
No, Harry stood above the others in such ways, already had quite the tale to tell, and had achieved quite the list of feats in his own right; Triwizard Champion, the only known survivor of the killing curse, and now, the bane of the life of a man who had cut down every other who’d stood in front of him.
There was something about the young man Cassie found herself intrigued by. His similarities to Gellert aside, he was most interesting in his own ways, and she was rather keen to keep watching him.
Of course, she’d expected he would not linger when he learned of the men, women, and children being detained on Azkaban, and she had wished to witness what he would do about it for herself.
His mastery of the patronus charm truly was a sight to behold, but it was his presence, how he stood tall in the face of adversity, unwaveringly so, and how he overcame what most would find to be the most overwhelming of odds.
Yes, she had intervened on his behalf, but it wasn’t because it appeared as though Potter needed her help, more so that she almost felt compelled to give it.
Gellert would’ve wanted her to.
He had bestowed his learnings and wisdom upon the boy, which meant he wanted Harry Potter to be successful, and in turn. That was what Cassiopeia wanted too.
Still, she knew she should not have injected herself into what was unfolding at Azkaban. She had no intention of entering the war on any side of the conflict, but in that moment, she found she could not help herself.
Chastising herself for being unable to ignore her own impulsive nature, she shook her head and took another sip of her tea, reminding herself that the one man she had chosen to follow so many decades prior was no longer around.
It saddened her still, and would for the rest of her days, but she took a semblance of comfort in knowing that Gellert had not suffered in his final moments, and that through the most interesting young man she’d become acquainted with, he still lived on in the ways Cassie knew would matter most to Gellert.
(Break)
He tore himself from the debris that had been crushing him, the powder from the broken stones of the prison cascading down the length of his robes as he took stock of himself.
There were a few minor cuts, and he would undoubtedly be bruised, but there were no major injuries. Not that he was so focused on such a trivial thing.
No, the Dark Lord’s eyes roamed the devastation around him where the dementors continued to swarm, searching for any victims they might find among the destruction.
They were gone, and so was Potter.
He gritted his teeth in frustration in a bid to prevent his impending outburst, to no avail. With a bellow of fury, he pointed his wand towards the sky, and the lashings of magic rained down around him, scorching the ground and displaced stones.
“Potter,” he whispered malevolently.
There had never been anyone he’d wanted dead more, never a another who’d gotten under his skin in such a way. No, it was bad enough that as a boy he’d ruined everything the Dark Lord had built, but now, as a man, he was intent on destroying it all over again.
That would not happen, but these intrusions could not go on. No, something had to be done about Harry Potter, now more than ever.
His anger had yet to abate, and he’d not even gone to the trouble of changing his torn and dirtied robes. Instead, he’d decided to warm himself in front of the fire whilst he pondered what it was he would do.
Of course, he had the Ministry of Magic now at his disposal, and Hogwarts too, a thought that brought him a sense of relief. Potter may have taken his prisoners, but the castle itself was full of them.
“What is it, Scabior?” he snapped as the man entered the room, his own robes singed rather impressively.
“The two shops are destroyed with three others severely damaged, my lord. Six of my team were killed, and there are a dozen more now being treated with life-threatening injuries.”
Immediately, his thoughts drifted to Potter, but no, Potter had been on Azkaban. He knew the aurors were following him now, but to set up an ambush so brazenly in Knockturn Alley…
Was that their style?
Never having faced a rogue group of highly trained professionals in such a way, he couldn’t be certain, but then again, there wasn’t much he could be certain of when it came to his enemies.
Potter had proven to be quite the thorn in his side, as had the Order of the Phoenix when the old fool had been alive. The aurors, however, were an unknown that he could do without.
“The Weasleys, my lord,” Scabior spoke, breaking into his thoughts. “I have it on good authority that the fireworks they used were much the same as the ones they used against Dolores during her time at Hogwarts. I have people attempting to break through their defences as we speak.”
“Have you not been attempting to do just that for several weeks, Scabior?”
The man frowned unhappily at the reminder of his lack of success.
“Of course, my lord, but…”
The Dark Lord waved him off.
“We have a bigger problem, Scabior. The prisoners are gone.”
“Gone?” Scabior scoffed.
The Dark Lord hummed.
“Potter. He took them from Azkaban, which means you and your team will need to round up some others, yes?”
Scabior nodded frantically, not missing the undertone of warning.
“We will, my lord,” he vowed. “We will find some more, but do not forget, we have those selected in the basement here.”
That reminder brought something of. Agrin to the Dark Lord’s lips, but it faltered at the reminder of losing so many others.
“That is not the point, Scabior,” he snarled irritably.
Scabior hurried from the room, and the Dark Lord’s hand twitched towards his wand at the thought of what had happened on Azkaban. It was one thing for Potter to have the temerity to make such an attempt, and another that he’d been successful.
Truthfully, he had not expected it, though evidently, he should have.
Potter was unpredictable, and there was no telling what he might do at any given moment, and it was time the Dark Lord realised that where Harry Potter was concerned, anything seemed to be possible.
The boy had spent his life doing what most others would never believe, but Lord Voldemort was not so foolish. He had faced Potter more times than he cared to count, and on each of those occasions, he’d managed to escape with his life.
He released a deep breath, pondering what he was to do with his foe.
Of course, he wanted Potter dead, and yet, he could not ignore that ever-niggling feeling in the back of his mind of the prophecy that hung so heavily over them, which only seemed to become more and more troubling the more time that passed.
He needed to hear it in full, needed to understand if there was a magic at play that was preventing him from being rid of Potter.
Much to his consternation, there didn’t seem to be any way of hearing it for himself.
Augustus had found the Department of Mysteries all but stripped bare of anything that may be of any use, and it wasn’t as though he could dig up Dumbledore’s corpse to interrogate the blasted man.
He paused as another thought crossed his mind and wondered if it could be so simple.
The portraits.
Every headmaster for the last several centuries had been immortalised in canvas, so that meant Dumbledore would’ve been too. How he could get a portrait of all things to cooperate with him remained to be seen, but if it possessed his former professor’s memories, then there may just be a way of extracting it.
Standing, he threw a handful of floo powder into the fire and waited for the flames to turn green.
“Hogwarts, Headmaster’s office,” he called clearly.
(Break)
“You’re a mad bastard, Potter,” Dawlish chuckled as he continued handing out slabs of chocolate to the new arrivals. “They’ll all have a bed each, and food in their bellies. It’s the best we can do, but it is a damned sight better than Azkaban.”
Harry nodded tiredly.
His excursion to the island had been no easier than he’d anticipated, but it had been worth the effort to see the relief on the faces of those released alone.
“Are you hurt?” Dawlish asked.
“No, nothing but some cuts and bruises.”
Dawlish snorted and shook his head.
“There aren’t many who could ever say that after facing him down. I know I wouldn’t fancy it. I saw what he was capable of during the last war. Only Dumbledore, Moody, and Bones were able to escape with their lives whenever he decided to show up. It was them three that kept us in the war. And now they’re gone,” he added with a frown. “It’s just you, Potter. For Merlin’s sake, don’t die on us. We will be buggered if that happens.”
“I have no intention of dying, Dawlish. Listen, you’ve been a part of the Ministry for a while. Have you had any dealings with anyone in America?”
He frowned in response.
“No, you’d need to speak with Crouch for anything recent on that side of the pond, but if there’s anyone who might know anything about the place still around, try Newt Scamander. He lives there still as far as I know. Married one of the Goldsteins.”
Harry had hoped it wouldn’t come to that but given that he was rather lost when it came to whatever it was Grindelwald had been up to there during the early part of the century, it seemed he had little choice in the matter.
Maybe he would seek the man out to find the answers he needed, after all.
“Thanks, Dawlish. Will you be alright handling this lot?”
“Not a problem, Potter. They won’t be up to much for a while, but we’ll get them back on their feet. Anyway, you’d best watch out. He won’t take so kindly to this. He’ll want to do something in response, so, keep your wits about you.”
“You don’t need to tell me that,” Harry returned, offering Dawlish a wave before activating his portkey.
For now, he wanted little more than to recover from what had happened this evening before even thinking about what Tom would do next or how would be best to approach Newt Scamander.
Maybe simply sending him a letter would be enough.
(Break)
He’d only been conversing with the portraits hanging on the wall of the office for a few moments, and already, the Dark Lord was trembling with rage, seething at how unhelpful they were being.
Albus in particular seemed to take particular exception to his presence, his expression lacking any of the warmth he was known for.
“You will tell me, Dumbledore!” the Dark Lord gloated, pointing his wand towards the image of the man, eliciting a bout of jeers from the other portraits.
“My Lord, I would urge you not to do that,” Severus interjected. “It would be unwise.”
The burning, crimson eyes came to rest on him, and though he felt the urge to shudder under the glare, he held firm.
“There are protections in place, most unpleasant ones that would not react kindly,” he warned.
Voldemort’s serpent-like nostrils flared and he hung his head in a bid to compose himself.
Diplomacy had never been his strong point, and his usual method of tearing information from others would not work here. No, there was nothing the Dark Lord could threaten a portrait with.
“You test my patience, old man,” he hissed. “What are the contents of the prophecy?”
“I’m afraid I do not know, Tom,” Dumbledore replied cordially enough.
“See, he doesn’t know, so why don’t you stick it up your arse,” Phineas Nigellus Black snorted.
Once more, it was clear that the Dark lord wished to exact some vengeance upon the laughing figure within the frame, but, for now, at least, he heeded Severus’s warning.
“He omitted it from being in the portrait,” he said in realisation. “He purposely defies me, even in death!”
“It seems that way, my lord.”
The expression he wore was one Severus had only ever seen reserved for two people: Albus Dumbledore, and Harry Potter. The Dark Lord was naturally full of hate, but when it came to them in particular, it was another matter entirely; utter revulsion like Severus had never seen.
“You did not mention what happened in Knockturn Alley, my lord.”
Any hope he may have harboured that changing the subject would calm him was lost as his grip noticeably tightened around the handle of his wand.
“Potter,” he whispered dangerously. “It was a distraction so Potter could attack Azkaban.”
Truthfully, Severus was not surprised by the revelation. Thus far, although he had been rather quiet, for the most part, whenever Potter did surface to strike against the Dark Lord, he’d been largely successful, much more so than anyone else who’d ever dared to.
“And he escaped with the prisoners.”
The Dark Lord nodded unhappily.
“Scabior has been tasked with getting more to replace them, and I still have those of considerable value kept within Malfoy Manor.”
Having read through the lists of missing students, there were a few names Severus was certain would be found among those being held. Not that he would tell Potter, not yet, at least.
The damned fool would likely do something rash and get himself killed by attempting to retrieve them, but then again, attacking Azkaban the way he had was just that.
He shook his head at the many dilemmas his position presented him with.
He needed to be smart, to sometimes withhold what he knew for the sake of the many instead of the few, though that did not mean he liked it. No, it played on his conscience tirelessly, and Severus could not wait to be done with the entire charade, no matter his own outcome.
“What was that?” the Dark Lord asked as one of the instruments near the desk began emitting a high-pitched squeaking sound.
“It means that there is a disturbance in the castle,” Severus huffed irritably, retrieving the odd globe and frowning as he tapped it with his wand. “Third floor, transfiguration room. I expect Carrow is already enjoying himself a little too much.”
The shrieking began once again, and Severus grumbled under his breath.
“I must check on what is happening, my lord.”
“I will come with you.”
Severus offered no response as he took his leave of the office. He would rather the man simply leave the castle, but as ever, he would do what he wished.
Still, it would not do for him to be seen roaming the halls. If only Amycus Carrow could keep the disturbances to a minimum, Severus might just be granted something resembling a few moments of peace from running this damned circus.
(Break)
“What a clever map,” she murmured as she consulted the worn piece of parchment.
As expected, those posing as new professors, much like herself, were not who they claimed to be. Although she did not recognise the names of four of them, two certainly stood out to her.
Amycus Carrow, and Malcolm Gibbon, who should certainly not be allowed anywhere near the young children of Hogwarts, let alone out of Azkaban for their crimes during the first war.
Worse still, the former was currently in one of the transfiguration classrooms with a pair of students, and Nymphadora frowned as she checked the time.
He’d not been named as one of the heads of house, which meant that he had either given them a detention, or they were seeking help from him with their work.
Regardless, she felt distinctly uncomfortable at either prospect, and leaving her office, she made her way towards the third floor, consulting the map regularly for any other sign that something was amiss.
What did strike her as odd was that the entire corridor was eerily silent, though that changed as she reached the door to Carrow’s classroom.
“Please, Professor, I don’t want to,” one of the girls pleaded.
“You will do as you’re told or I will have you expelled!”
The girl began to sob uncontrollably, continuing to plead with the man.
“You’re pathetic! Either do it, or I will do it to you!”
The sobbing continued for a moment before subsiding.
“I-I can’t!” the girl wailed.
“Then…”
Carrow broke off as Nymphadora pushed the door open with her wand drawn.
“What the hell is going on in here?” she demanded to know, doing her utmost to keep her temper in check.
Carrow leered at her, the grin he wore as smug as it was menacing.
“Teaching,” he answered.
“This is not how we teach at Hogwarts, Professor!” Nymphadora responded. “Come along, girls.”
They all but sprinted from the room, but Carrow was not content in allowing them to do so, and the door slammed behind them.
“You stupid bitch!” he spat as he stalked towards Nymphadora. “Hogwarts is not how it was when the old goat was here. Surely you can see that!”
“That doesn’t mean you get to harm the students!”
Carrow’s grin widened more so as the door opened, and Nymphadora fought the urge to shudder as Snape entered, though it wasn’t his presence that troubled her so much. No, although she’d certainly never been so close to him, she’d seen the Dark Lord on more occasions than she would care too, yet somehow, he was just that much more terrifying within the walls of the castle.
“What is going on?” Snape questioned.
“This cow interrupted one of my lessons!”
“Lessons ended hours ago,” Snape retorted.
“I was offering some students some additional teaching,” Carrow explained, his grin unwavering.
Snape eyed the man with distaste, but the Dark Lord chuckled amusedly.
“I see nothing wrong with additional work, so long as it relevant. I admire your dedication to your craft. Perhaps your colleague here should understand that education is a never-ending joy, and that all opportunities to learn should be grasped with both hands.”
Tonks merely nodded in response.
“In any case, it is getting rather late, and I expect that you both have an early start, so, I suggest you both turn in,” Voldemort continued, shooting her a pointed glare.
With only a nod in response, she left the classroom, relieved that she had managed to intervene on whatever unpleasantness Carrow was instigating, and even more so that she did not seem to have caught the attention of Voldemort.
For now, at least.
“Bloody hell,” she whispered as she reached her office, ensuring the door was locked fast.
She’d not noticed him on the map but hadn’t paid any mind to Snape’s office; a mistake she would not be making again in a hurry.
No, she had gotten lucky this time, and had no intention of pushing it, which meant that she would need to be much more careful in the future.
“Miss?”
Her heart almost jumped out of her chest at the sight of the house-elf standing by her fireplace. Its sudden appearance had been startling enough, but its ensemble was much more curious.
He was wearing at least four pairs of mismatched socks, a badly knitted hat, and a jumper with a large ‘H’ printed across the front in gold.
“Master Harry Potter says that Dobby and the other elves is to be helping you,” he declared. “We is to help you protect the little ones, so, you just be calling for Dobby if you need him.”
With that, he vanished with a click of his fingers, leaving behind a rather dumbfounded Nymphadora Tonks in his wake, who could only fall back into her chair and ponder the terrifying and odd past moments she’d experienced.
(Break)
There was something so wholesome and homely about the bracing air of Godric’s Hollow. Although he’d only been away for a matter of months, it felt to be much longer that he’d last walked the streets of the village.
“Morning, Albus,” Mr Spicer, the local shop owner called as he passed.
He offered the man a jaunty wave as he continued on his way, pausing briefly to help the elderly Mrs Batchelor up the three stairs leading up to her garden.
“You’re a good boy, Albus. Give your mother my love.”
“I will, Mrs Batchelor.”
Yes, it was good to be back, but as he approached his own home, he felt the sense of dread begin to fill him. The last time he’d been here, he and his mother had quite the almighty row about his decision to travel with Gellert, and Albus had stormed out of the house.
Of course, he had written since, and his mother had been polite enough in her letters.
The same, however, could not be said for Abe, who’d outright ignored his efforts to reach him, and Ariana, who, much to his surprise, was sitting beneath the tree in the back garden, reading a rather large volume on charms.
“Y-you’re outside,” he choked.
Ariana simply nodded.
“Harry was here a while ago.”
Albus smiled fondly at his memories of the other boy.
Where all others had failed to help his sister, Harry Peverell had succeeded and had done so remarkably.
“He’s no longer here?” he asked.
Ariana shook her head.
“No, he’s been gone for a week or so now, but he said he’ll be back.”
He frowned at how curt the girl was being with him.
Girl.
Ariana was hardly the same little girl she’d been when they first came to Godric’s Hollow. No, outside of the physical changes of becoming a young woman, she had grown so much, and as he watched her tuck a lock of her auburn hair behind her ear, Albus smiled.
“I’m so proud of you,” he said sincerely. “Is mother in?”
“She is.”
He deflated at how dismissive she was of him.
There had been a time, before their father had been locked away, that Ariana would cling to him at every given opportunity, that she would scarcely leave his side.
Now, it was as though she couldn’t care less if he was around or not.
Maybe he had some making up to do for making her feel as though he’d abandoned her.
“Mother?”
“Oh, hello, Albie,” the teary-eyed woman greeted him, placing a letter she’d been reading on the table before wrapping her arms around him. “I’m fine, it’s just a letter from your father.”
“How is he?”
She released a deep breath.
“It’s beginning to take its toll on him, Albie. As much as he’s trying to hold it together, I can see it in his writing.”
Albus peered at the letter and shook his head.
His father’s handwriting had always been neat and precise, and now, there was an untidiness to it, a weakness in each line etched.
“Is there…?”
His mother shook her head.
“No, Albie, I’ve written to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to see if I can arrange a visit to see him. I think that would help if he could see that we are doing as well as can be. Not to worry,” she said dismissively. “What brings you here?”
“We will find a way to help him, Albie. Even if we have to break him out of Azkaban ourselves,” Gellert soothed.
He had spent a little over a week at home with his mother and sister, who had continued to be quite distant with him, and had returned to America when everything began to feel as though it was suffocating him once more.
He missed his family, even missed Britain, but right now, Albus couldn’t face being there.
“We can’t break him out of Azkaban.”
“Oh, I bet between us we could,” Gellert said thoughtfully.
“And then what?” Albus snorted, missing the serious expression his dearest friend wore.
“That is a problem for after, Albie,” Gellert said dismissively. “Come, you look as though you could use a good meal. Remember, one problem at a time. We will find a way to help your father.”
Before Albus could press him further, Gellert had summoned their coats and was already holding the front door to their apartment open invitingly, and he decided the man must be joking in a bid to cheer him up.
For the most part, it didn’t work, but he appreciated the gesture all the same.
(Break)
“They’re quite keen to get to you. How long have they been at it?”
Fred checked his watch.
“Almost eleven hours,” he chuckled. “I’d say five or six of them will be in St Mungo’s already.”
Harry could only shake his head.
Having the twins as enemies was not good for anyone. He certainly wouldn’t want to provoke their ire.
“How did your trip to Azkaban go?”
“Well enough, but he arrived a little quicker than I expected. He almost got me a few times.”
“Not you, Harry,” George said dismissively. “You are his weakness. He’ll never get you.”
“I wouldn’t be so bloody sure about that,” Harry muttered, giving Ron’s shoulder a tight squeeze. “What about you?”
His first ever friend shrugged in response.
“I got a few of them in Knockturn Alley,” he answered matter-of-factly, showing no joy or relief, or healing from having done so.
There was none to be had. Harry had learned that for himself over the years.
“How quickly did they respond?”
“Within a minute,” Fred answered. “They don’t mess around.”
Harry hummed thoughtfully.
“Well, after what I did on Azkaban, he will want revenge and to get himself some more prisoners, so…”
“You’ve come up with a plan,” Fred said knowingly.
“I have,” Harry confirmed. “Don’t you think it would be a shame if we could use his own impatience against him. He’ll send that lot out to get more prisoners. Maybe we should make sure they don’t make it back to him.”
The twins eyed him curiously before nodding.
“What do you have in mind, Harrykins?” Fred asked.
A grin tugged at the corner of his lips, already knowing the three of them would be most willing to help him.
“Lots of things,” Harry answered, “and they won’t much like any of them.”