A Time Gone By
The days always seem so much darker without him, but when he is here, we are all in danger.
- The Diary of Cassiopeia Black
It was as though he found himself in something of a fever dream. Harry had known something wasn’t right when he’d seemingly woken up after a short nap to find himself in a rather different Godric’s Hollow than the one he’d ventured to.
There had been no monument to his parents, no baby Harry being cradled in his mother’s arms, nor had there been any graves of two further generations of Potters that he’d seen only a matter of days prior.
It was when he’d been in a state of panic and confusion that he’d been approached by the two boys, with one of them claiming to be Albus Dumbledore.
It wasn’t until Harry had met his gaze that he’d believed it. Despite being several decades younger, there was no mistaking the visage of his headmaster, though, right now, he was just another boy of a similar age to Harry.
He’ remained in a state of disbelief as Albus, and a younger brother Harry didn’t know existed, had shown him around the village, and they’d parted ways, planning to meet again this very afternoon.
Fortunately for Harry, he’d been able to secure a room at the village pub, and the coins he’d handed over to do so had not been scrutinised. Not that wizarding currency was dated, not as the muggles tended to do with theirs.
That, however, was the least of his worries, and having secured a room, he’d begun the search for information, and using the excuse that he’d been out of the country for some time, the barman, a plum, jovial Welshman, had been able to provide him with newspapers.
1895.
Somehow, the voice he’d foolishly pledged himself to had transported him back in time by more than one hundred years, and Harry was at a loss at what he should do.
An opportunity.
The voice had told him that this was an opportunity to ready himself for what he was to face, but Harry could not have envisioned finding himself where he was now.
To what end?
Harry couldn’t even be certain that any of this was real, but as he pinched the skin on the back of his hand, it certainly felt it, and he could only chuckle humourlessly.
He should’ve known better.
The diary should’ve been a lesson to him that hearing voices would lead to nothing good, and yet, he’d proven his naivety once again, finding himself in a ridiculous, perhaps even dangerous situation.
Even so, he could not ignore the pressing questions that irked him.
If this was indeed as real as he feared, why did he not know that Dumbledore had a brother, and more pressing still, why had he become so defensive when he’d though that Harry had learned of something quite notorious that had happened to the family?
Harry didn’t know, and though he did not wish to pry, he could not help but think there was much more to the headmaster than he knew.
Maybe it was that he’d never given it much thought, that he’d not even considered that Dumbledore had ever been anything else other than the headmaster of Hogwarts.
It was a ridiculous notion.
Harry knew he’d once taught Transfiguration, and had even studied extensively under Nicholas Flamel, which only made him wonder what he didn’t know about the man he’d never thought of beyond what he’d seen.
Perhaps this was an opportunity to do just that, though Harry could not help but think that this only the very beginning of what would be a considerable learning curve.
The voice must have sent him here for a reason beyond meeting Dumbledore as a boy. More concerning, however, was the thoughts of just how he would return home that he could not ignore.
Harry took little comfort in the words given to him that he inevitably would. What troubled him just as much as finding himself in an unfamiliar world was just how long it would be until he did make it back.
In a little over a fortnight, he was expected to be aboard the Hogwarts’ Express, and if he did not show…
That did not bear thinking about.
No, Harry had been sent here for a reason, and if he had any hope of returning in time, he needed to focus on figuring that out.
(Break)
He watched as his mother went through the motion of preparing breakfast before placing a plate in front of him and then Aberforth, who was still a little too young to understand the circumstances that brought them here.
The boy had only been seven when their father had been arrested, and didn’t remember much of the Aurors arriving to take the man away.
Albus did.
He remembered all of it, and the subsequent whispers that followed him around at Hogwarts. He did his utmost to ignore them, but it wasn’t easy, and he suspected he would endure much the same again come September.
His father’s final appeal had been denied, and Percival Dumbledore would find himself locked away in Azkaban for the rest of his days.
It was shameful, though Albus understood.
What those boys had done to Ariana did not even bear thinking about.
It was the tapping on the window that pulled him from his maudlin thoughts, and his mother relieved the owl of its burden, frowning as she opened the missive.
“I would like you boys to go and play when you’ve finished your breakfast,” she instructed.
Aberforth nodded readily enough.
He was quite excited to see Harry again, as was Albus.
Yesterday had been the best day he’d experienced in a long time. He’d been able to forget, just for a while, about the downward spiral the lives of the Dumbledore family had taken these past few years.
It was a welcome distraction, and he liked Harry.
Although he was quiet, he’d proven not to be judgemental. If anything, he was rather curious.
“Has something happened?” Albus asked.
“No, nothing of the sort, but I have a visitor coming,” his mother answered.
She looked tired.
The past few years had taken their toll on the woman, but she had clung onto what little hope she could that her husband would be cleared of any wrongdoing.
With all the rumours circulating about a group of people taking part in muggle hunting for sport, the Wizengamot had chosen to make an example of Percival Dumbledore.
It wasn’t fair.
Albus wouldn’t deny his father should be punished, but a life sentence was exceedingly harsh.
Still, for now, there was nothing he could do about it, and it wasn’t as though he would ever be a member of the august body. His family did not have a hereditary seat like the Ogdens or many other families, but maybe when he was older, he would find a way to free his father.
“Is it for Ariana?”
His mother shook her head sadly.
“No, not this time.”
“It’s alright, Albie. We will be seeing Harry,” Aberforth reminded.
“Harry?” their mother probed.
“Harry Peverell! We met him in the village yesterday. He was really nice to us.”
Their mother offered both of them a warm smile.
“Well, I’m glad you have made a friend, but do be on your best behaviour. We don’t want to draw any unwanted attention to ourselves.”
“We will,” Abe assured her as he stood, bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly whilst he waited for Albus to finish his breakfast. “Come on, Albie. Let’s go!”
Albus chuckled at his enthusiastic brother before pulling his mother into a tight embrace.
“We will figure it out,” he said reassuringly.
“I do hope so, Albus.”
He gave her hand a comforting squeeze before following Aberforth from the house.
Albus meant every word. He would do whatever it took to help Ariana, whose condition only seemed to worsen with each passing day. Now, she barely left her room, did not speak as much as she once had, and her bouts of accidental magic were becoming more and more volatile.
Albus would help her.
No matter what it took, he would find a way.
(Break)
She watched from the kitchen window as her two sons made their way down the garden path and smiled sadly. Kendra was proud of Albus and how he had handled everything that had been happening these past few years.
Watching his father being dragged in and out of the Wizengamot chambers, his name and face plastered across countless editions of The Daily Prophet, and facing the ridicule of his peers had not been easy for him, and yet, he’d been so brave and unrelenting.
He truly was a spectacular boy, and Kendra knew she would be lost without him.
How she and Percival had produced such an incredibly talented wizard, she did not know, but Albus was special. His prowess at such a young age truly was magnificent, and he had the keenest of minds.
She was only sorry that for the hand he had been dealt.
Kendra did not blame Percival for what he’d done.
When she had seen the injuries to her daughter, she too had been furious but could not have foreseen the fallout that would follow. Percival had been made an example of. For a crime that should’ve seen him sentenced to perhaps a few in Azkaban, he’d been given lifelong term; all because there was a group of witches and wizards still at large who’d caused considerable problems for the Ministry of Magic by hunting muggles for their entertainment.
The Prime Minister had gotten wind of it, and relations between the magicals and counterparts had been strained.
Percival had borne the brunt of it, and now, her three children would be without a father, and she without her husband.
Leaving the family home had not been a decision she’d made lightly, but it had become all but inevitable. Wherever she or her children went, the whispers followed, and Kendra did not wish for them to be punished for the actions of their father.
Fortunately, the house had sold quickly, and they’d moved here to Godric’s Hollow for a fresh start, which might prove to not be enough, after all.
She frowned as she read the letter she’d received by quite the noteworthy woman in her own right, and Kendra was not expecting the warmest of welcomes from Bathilda Bagshot when she arrived in the coming moments.
Before that, however, there was something else she needed to attend to, and though she doubted her daughter would eat it, she prepared another plate of breakfast before making her way upstairs.
“Ariana,” she called gently. “I have some breakfast for you.”
Pushing open the door, she found the girl sitting on the edge of her bed. Except for a single candle flickering on the bedside table, the room was plunged in darkness.
Ariana had not adjusted well to the move, and Kendra did not doubt she blamed herself for what had happened to her father. Of course, it wasn’t her fault.
She was the victim in all of this and had been emotionally and physically scarred by her ordeal. Even now, it angered Kendra that her daughter had been subjected to such treatment, but more than anything else, it broke her heart to see her so broken.
Now, she barely spoke, and Kendra knew it was not good for her to keep everything inside. Already, her magic was reacting to the trauma, and although she was visited regularly by a healer, there seemed to be little progress with her condition.
“She just needs time, Mrs Dumbledore. I expect she will be well soon enough.”
Kendra had hoped that was so, but her daughter did not seem to be dealing with what happened well at all. If anything, she was only becoming more withdrawn, more troubling, and she was at a loss at what else she could so for the girl.
In only a year, she was expected to attend Hogwarts, and unless nothing short of a miracle was to happen, Kendra could not see that happening.
“I’m not hungry,” Ariana murmured.
She wrapped an arm around her daughter’s shoulder.
“Well, I will leave it for you, just in case you change your mind. Is there anything else you need?”
The girl shook her head, and Kendra allowed her the silence she preferred, choosing to simply hold the girl a little longer until she heard the ringing of the doorbell.
“It’s okay,” she comforted her wide-eyed daughter. “It’s just a visitor. Nothing for you to worry about.”
Ariana nodded, but she did not relax, and Kendra gave her final hug before leaving the room, wiping away an errant teat as she made her way to greet her guest.
Tentatively, she opened the front door, and was met with the visage of a smiling, middle-aged woman.
Kendra had read many of the articles Bathilda Bagshot had posted in various outlets over the years, and she immediately felt a little more at ease at the sight of the basket of baked goods, large bunch of flowers, and pot of coffee her neighbour had brought along.
“Hello, Mrs Dumbledore,” Bathilda greeted her warmly. “I do hope I’m not intruding. I thought it best to give you a little time to settle in before introducing myself.”
“No, please, come in.”
She stepped aside to allow her to do so, and Bathilda placed the basket on the kitchen table.
“I remember Mr Tennyson who used to live here,” she mused aloud. “He was a sweet old man. His ancestor was a famous poet in the muggle world. I’m pleased to see his home in the hands of someone else I do not doubt will look after it.”
Kendra nodded as she fetched some mugs.
“It’s a wonderful home.”
“But not where you would prefer to be,” Bathilda said knowingly. “Worry not, my dear. I, along with most of the others in the village, were shocked and appalled at the treatment of your husband by the Wizengamot. Believe me, I have sent a strongly worded letter to many of them.”
Kendra offered her an appreciative smile.
“I think we all just needed a fresh start.”
“And you will be granted that. The people of Godric’s Hollow, we look out for our own, and so long as you live here, you are one of us. I expect you will meet many of the well-known families here. Of course, there is me, and the Wright family, along with the Laboscas. I’m afraid there aren’t many children here an age of your on, but I’m certain they will come to love it here.”
“Well, Albus and Aberforth did make a friend, a boy of the name Harry Peverell.”
Bathilda frowned.
“You did say Peverell?”
Kendra nodded, and Bathilda’s eyebrows vanished into her hairline.
“My dear, that cannot be possible. The Peverell family went extinct almost 800 years ago. The last of them, Iolanthe, married into the Potter family. They’re still here. Have you never heard of them?”
Kendra shook her head.
“Well, there is much mystery surrounding them. For the longest time, the Peverells were the protectors of the lands here, dating back long before the days of the Wizard’s Council. The rumours about them would give most nightmares, and there were few who wished to find themselves on the wrong side of them. Are you certain the boys’ name is Peverell?”
“That is what Aberforth and Albus said.”
Bathilda hummed.
“Perhaps he is playing a joke on them,” she said dismissively. “If a Peverell was ever to be found, their return would be on the lips of every person in magical Britain. The family was quite notorious, for both the good and bad.”
Kendra was quite taken aback but had no reason to doubt Bathilda. The woman was a renowned historian, after all. Perhaps she would speak with Albus and Aberforth when they returned.
If this boy, Harry, was playing a trick, it seemed to be a rather dangerous one.
(Break)
He laughed as Aberforth hurled himself from the swing onto the sand below, and the boy giggled as he prepared to do so again. He was young and untainted enough to enjoy such an innocent pastime. Albus, however was very mature for one his age, and he carried every bit of the weight placed upon his shoulders.
“My father isn’t a horrible man, Harry,” he defended. “He shouldn’t have done what he did but when he saw what was happening to Ariana…”
“He did what any other father would’ve done,” Harry interjected.
Listening to the story the Dumbledore family had lived these past years was nothing short of awful. He too had been on the receiving end of abusive muggles and would have no qualms in cursing the Dursleys now if they attempted such again.
“He did, and the Ministry punished him really harshly because of the muggle hunters.”
Harry deflated.
“Is your sister well?”
Albus shook his head.
“She has not been the same since. If anything, she is getting worse. Her magic is becoming violent, and she won’t talk to anyone about what happened. She keeps it all inside.”
It wasn’t good.
Had he not been resilient, perhaps what was happening to Ariana Dumbledore would’ve happened to him. He couldn’t be certain, but he was determined to help the girl any way that he could.
If such a thing was possible.
It sounded as though Ariana needed to want to help herself, lest she was to find herself on the Janice Thickey Ward, like Neville’s parents.
“We’ve had several healers check on her, and they have all said the same thing. It will take time. Time is the greatest healer when it comes to such matters.”
“You don’t believe them.”
Albus shook his head.
“If that was true, she would be getting better, not worse.”
Harry nodded his agreement.
“I’m scared, Harry. I’m frightened she will either hurt herself or someone else.”
Harry frowned thoughtfully as he drew his wand, remembering a shield he’d learned in one of the books he’d purchased from Obscurus Books. He didn’t know if it would be of any use against such magic, but whatever was plaguing the girl was producing violent and volatile magic, so it was worth a try.
“Do you have some parchment?” he asked.
Albus nodded and removed some and a quill from within his pocket.
Taking a few notes of what he could remember from the book, including the incantation and wand movements, he handed it back to the other boy.
“Do you know this shield?”
Albus shook his head.
The book Harry had learned it from had been released in 1917, and he wasn’t sure if it had been re-released as a different edition, or if it was original.
If that was so, the spell itself wouldn’t be known to the public for another two decades, but it would certainly be most useful for Albus.
“No, I’ve never heard of or seen anything like it.”
“Well, if your sister does have another flare up, this will be the best shield to use to contain it. It feeds off of the magic and becomes stronger until what it is feeding off dissipates. It’s not an easy piece of magic, but I bet you could do it, and so could your mother.”
Albus nodded eagerly as he drew his own wand; not the same one Harry had seen him use during his duel with Voldemort in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic.
After only a few attempts, he managed to cast the shield, and Harry proved its effectiveness by firing a spell towards it.
The energy crackled, but the result was exactly as he’d expected. The shield did indeed feed off the magic until it vanished into nothing. By no means was it a flawless spell. It couldn’t defend against the Unforgiveables, and he did not doubt there were other kinds of magic that would destroy it.
He did, however, believe it could be most useful to the Dumbledores.
“It worked,” Albus whispered. “Where did you learn it?”
“Just from an old book,” Harry said dismissively.
“But you do not go to Hogwarts?”
Harry shook his head.
He had pondered doing so if he was here come September, but already, he could hear the voice calling to him once more. What he’d achieved since he’d been here, he didn’t know, but it was becoming more insistent that he return to it soon.
“No, I taught most of what I know to myself.”
It wasn’t a lie.
Of course, he’d learned much in his classes, but he had indeed taught himself throughout most of his fourth and fifth year; an education that had continued into his summer and undoubtedly would in his sixth year.
“You must be a brilliant wizard,” Albus whispered.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Harry chuckled.
Albus shook his head dismissively.
“Thank you, Harry. I will show it to my mother. Speaking of which, I should take Abe home for lunch.”
He pulled Harry into a tight embrace and beamed gratefully as he called for his brother.
“See you soon, Harry!” Abe called excitedly.
He waved the duo off, only wishing he could do more for them before turning towards the church in the distance that continued to call for him.
His stay had been much briefer than he’d expected, but Harry could not deny he had questions he needed to answer, and perhaps the voice was the only place he would get the answers.
It wasn’t as though he could discuss what had happened with Dumbledore himself, after all.
(Break)
“I really like Harry,” Aberforth declared.
Albus offered the boy a smile as he nodded.
Somehow, he felt better for discussing the many things plaguing him, and Harry had not judged him for any of it. He’d even empathised with Albus’s plight and understood the difficulty of living with what his father had done.
Finally, despite the Wizengamot refusing to grant his father’s appeal, it began to feel as though they’d been given something of a fresh start, not one the family would wish for, but it was something.
“Ah, boys, I didn’t realise what time was,” their mother said apologetically as they entered the kitchen. “This is Bathilda Bagshot,” she introduced the woman sitting at the table.
“I read your article about the practices of organic transfiguration during the middle ages,” Albus returned.
“So, you must be quite interested in the subject.”
Albus nodded enthusiastically.
“I’m already completing NEWT level work.”
Bathilda nodded approvingly.
“Then you must be very talented.”
He was.
Already, Albus could do things that Professor Weasley couldn’t, and she was an expert in the art. She was his favourite professor and was always setting him new challenges to overcome.
“He is quite brilliant,” his mother said proudly. “He achieved an Outstanding in all of his OWLs, and there are high expectations of him from those at the Ministry of Magic.”
“Then I suspect you and my nephew would get along swimmingly,” Bathilda mused aloud. “Gellert is due to visit when he finishes his own education at Durmstrang where he is proving to be an exceptional talent. I must introduce the two of you.”
Albus nodded keenly.
“Is he as good as Harry?” Aberforth asked.
Bathilda frowned.
“Harry Peverell?”
“Yes! Do you know him?” Aberforth asked. “He showed Albus a really powerful spell.”
Bathilda looked towards their mother before turning her attention back to the two boys.
“There hasn’t been a Peverell around for centuries,” she explained. “This boy you’ve seen cannot possibly be a one of them.”
“That’s the name he gave us,” Aberforth insisted.
Albus nodded when their mother looked towards them.
“What magic did he show you?” she asked.
He removed the slip of parchment Harry had written on and handed it to his mother, who eyed it curiously before passing it to Bathilda. She too scrutinised it and nodded thoughtfully.
“He said it will help if Ariana’s magic gets dangerous,” Albus explained. “I saw it work.”
“What a fascinating piece of magic,” Bathilda murmured, not listening in on the conversation.
Albus’s mother was taken aback by the revelation, and he drew his wand to show her, casting the shield before another spell which the first began to feed off.
“That is exceptional,” Bathilda whispered as she inspected it in favour of musing over the parchment. “It is taking the power away from the second spell for itself.”
Albus nodded.
“He must be quite the wizard to use magic like this, even if he is a mischievous lad.”
Albus thought so too, and even his mother seemed to be appreciative of the magic. If it did indeed help when Ariana’s magic was out of her control, it could be quite the boon to the family.
“I’m very interested in meeting this young man,” Bathilda spoke once more.
“As am I,” his mother agreed.
“I can always bring him here. I’m certain we will run into him tomorrow.”
(Break)
Harry frowned as he neared the church, which looked almost exactly as it would a century from now. He couldn’t be certain how old it was, or who had built it, but it would continue to stand the test of time.
The same, however, could not be said for everything else he’d encountered here. Even now, he could scarcely believe the experience of meeting a young Albus Dumbledore, nor the story the boy had shared with him.
It saddened Harry to learn of what ailed his sister, what the family had endured since Percival Dumbledore had been arrest and imprisoned. Still, Harry had so many questions, and as the archway appeared in front of him in the courtyard of the church, he stepped through it.
After only a few moments, he found himself in the exact spot he’d been pulled from, and he blinked to clear his vision, only to find it was late in the evening.
“Was that real?” he asked.
“Very much so, Peverell,” the voice answered.
Harry could only shake his head.
“How?”
“Magic is a most wondrous thing. There are threads that can be followed and altered with the introduction of other magicks, sometimes for the better, others for the worst.”
Harry would not pretend to even begin to understand such intricacies, and truthfully, whether it was real or not didn’t matter.
“Did all of that really happen?”
“Why don’t you see for yourself?”
Harry felt his gaze being pulled towards the graveyard just a short distance away, and he made his way towards it, pausing as he came upon a trio of monuments, each inscribed with a familiar name.
“Percival Dumbledore died only a few years after he was sent to Azkaban,” he murmured, “and Kendra only a year later. Bloody hell.”
Looking upon the last of the three, he felt only another pang of sadness fill him.
“Fourteen,” he whispered.
Ariana had only been fourteen when she had perished.
Swallowing deeply, Harry sprinted back towards where he’d been returned.
“Isn’t there something I can do to stop it?”
“In this world, no, Peverell,” the voice answered. “It has already come to pass.”
“But back there?”
He was met with only silence for a few moments.
“That remains to be seen, but already, you have set changes in motion.”
“What changes? I didn’t do anything!”
“On the contrary, Peverell, you did more than you can imagine. You gave them hope, and a way to prevent what is to come.”
Harry frowned thoughtfully.
“The spell?”
“Indeed.”
Harry wasn’t certain how giving Albus one single spell could have any drastic impact on what was to come for the family, but if he had helped, then he was pleased for it.
“Why there?” he asked. “There must be a reason you sent me to that specific time.”
“There are many, the first being that it was one of the threads available to me.”
The words gave little explanation of the most confusion and curious of circumstances.
“And the others?”
“To prepare you, Peverell. You will understand when the circumstances present themselves. What that was, for now, was just another trial for you. I wished to get a measure of you, to see the kind of man you will become, to see if you are truly worthy of my blessing.”
“Am I?”
“That remains to be seen, but your actions and intentions were admirable. I am impressed, though I can say the very same about your ancestors when we first met. They too were admirable, and had the very best intentions, but when given the choice of what gift I was to bestow upon them, two were consumed by their own needs, and the third took the cowardly road.”
Harry liked to think he wasn’t so selfish, though he could not deny that more recently, he had begun to think of his own needs and desires more than others. Did that make him just like the Peverell brothers?
“What next?” he asked tiredly.
“You will know when you need to return. I will call for you, Peverell, but for now, you must come to know your magic. You must understand it, embrace it, and accept yourself for who you truly are. Allow it to become you, and it will serve you better than you can imagine. Most importantly, remember your pledge to me, Peverell. I am your chosen, and you are mine. Never let your loyalty waver, and I will continue to reward you for your faith.”
It filled him with something of a sense of dread that he had indeed pledged himself to a disembodied voice, but as he spotted the little thestral just on the other side of the courtyard, he was relieved to see that it was no longer limping.
“Will I be going back there?” he asked. “I want to help her if I can, well, all of them.”
“You will be returning, but when you do, all will not be as it was, Peverell. Already, you have changed the paths of those you have encountered, some undoubtedly for the best, but others…”
The voice faded away, and took much of the chill with it, but Harry could feel it still within himself, as though it had truly become a part of him.
The final words hung on the air ominously, and he questioned if he’d done the right thing at all, but with a shake of his head, he knew he wouldn’t change a thing.
If there was a way to change the fate of the Dumbledore family, he would do so.
He and the Dumbledore here might not be on the best of terms, but Harry could not envision himself allowing to come to pass what happened here. Of course, Hermione’s warning about meddling with time was something he could not ignore, though, if where he’d been was another place entirely, what harm could he truly do?
That in itself was not a question he wished to ponder or could even hope to answer, and yet, it would plague him, much like the many others that continued to do so since the night he’d learned of the prophecy.
Still, the voice had assured him that all would become clear, and it wasn’t as though Harry had nothing to work on.
Firstly, however, out of all the questions he would inevitably seek the answers to, there was one he could answer readily enough.
Just what had happened to Aberforth Dumbledore?
(Break)
He had lost count how many times he had been called here over the years, mostly to discuss his conduct, or face disciplinary action, and Alastor smiled fondly at the memories.
He’d been an excellent auror, and he did not doubt it was the only reason he’d remained in the job for as long as he did; either because he’d done what was necessary to ensure it was him returning home at the end of his shift, or his higher-ups had been willing to fight to ensure he did not lose his job.
Despite the injuries he’d sustained, how many dressing-downs he’d endured, Alastor Moody regretted nothing, but he’d never fathomed that he would find himself here as the occupant of the office.
He remembered when Bones had arrived for training. She’d immediately impressed him and the others, and Alastor had predicted on her very first day that she would be one to climb to the very top.
She’d certainly not proven him a liar, and he’d been so proud to see her achieve all she had. For her to be cut down by Voldemort in her own home was nothing short of a slap in the face to him, and every other man and woman who put on the red robes each day.
It was a personal afront that he simply could not abide, and as he stalked towards the training room to greet his subordinates, he did not doubt that they would see it the same way.
The door crashed open, and he stalked inside, his gaze roaming over the two hundred or so that now fell under his command.
“Form up,” he instructed.
They did so immediately, and Alastor nodded.
“Things are going to be different. See this?” he asked as he held up a copy of their handbook before tearing it in half. “I expect you to follow that when you are doing your jobs, when you’re dealing with the typical scum on the street, but when it comes to his lot, I couldn’t give a toss about the damned rules. You’ve seen it for yourself, and you know that we will be out there fighting for our lives. I do not give a shit how you do it, what methods you decide to use, I expect each of you back here at the end of every patrol, every call, and every visit we make. No excuses. You live that to me if anyone wishes to take exception to anything you have done, but mind, if you do something I don’t like, I’ll drag your arses out of here so bloody quickly, your feet will not touch the floor. Any questions?”
One of the aurors raised her hand, and Alastor gestured for her to speak.
“How do we know what you do and don’t like?”
It was a valid question, ad Alastor frowned as he pondered it.
“I suppose you won’t until you fuck up,” he chuckled. “Don’t fuck up.”
He’d warned Scrimgeour that he’d taken his leave of his senses in appointing Alastor, and even now, he’d not changed his mind about the assessment he’d given.
He knew that being in an office and having more than two hundred aurors to call upon was never meant for him, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
Alastor did not doubt that he would be unorthodox in his approach, but so long as he could preserve the lives of those below him, he could live with whatever consequences came his way.
Besides, Scrimgeour had made it abundantly clear that there was no other willing to take the job, so, Alastor guessed he would have more than enough leeway to work with when he needed to.
(Break)
I fear that Hardwin is struggling to understand what it is that Henry experiences, but he is trying his best. He’d never considered the rumours that surrounded our family could be true, and although I was never intruded upon by the cloaked figure when I was a girl, I never knew my father to lie.
I feel it.
The coldness that washes over the village whenever he wishes to make his presence known. I’ve even asked what he could possibly want with my son, and Henry claims he wants nothing from him, only to remind him that he is there.
Henry says that the figure will come for one of our descendants when they are needed most, and I truly fear for them, even if I am grateful he does not wish to take my son from me.
Nonetheless, Henry has taken to saying a few words to the cloaked figure before he sleeps at night. He says that it helps the coldness settle so that he can sleep peacefully.
I do not know what he means. It is as though he prays to it the way the muggles do to their god in the church.
He’d decided to read a little more of Iolanthe Peverell’s journal in a bid to distract him from the many questions he still sought answers to, with many more coming the more he pondered what he’d experienced.
Two hours.
According to the clock in the study, that was how long Harry had been absent for when it felt as though he’d lived a day.
Magic.
That was all he could attribute it too.
He certainly did not understand Arithmancy enough to even consider calculating what may have happened. Still, he had been able to answer one of the questions bothering him.
Aberforth Dumbledore was indeed very much alive and owned The Hog’s Head in Hogsmeade.
Harry did wonder however, why, in five years of being at Hogwarts, that had never been mentioned.
Perhaps he would discover the truth for himself, and although there were many other questions he wished to answer, the one he could scarcely distract himself from was just how what he’d experienced, and undoubtedly would, was supposed to prepare him to fight Voldemort?
For now, he could not fathom it, and with only a little over two weeks remaining of his summer, he doubted the path ahead where the voice was concerned would become any clearer, not until it decided the time was right.
With a shake of his head, he decided to turn in, his thoughts inevitably drifting to the plight of the Dumbledore family he’d left behind.
“Watch over them,” he murmured, “and me.”
Oddly, the chill that had very much settled within him became just a little more comfortable, and Harry wondered if there was anything in the claims of Henry Potter that offering a few words to the figure would somehow satisfy it?
He frowned thoughtfully, and as strange as it felt and seemed to himself, by the time he climbed into bed, Harry was already drifting off to sleep.
Was that just the fatigue catching up to him, or was the figure granting him peace?
Harry didn’t know, and before he could think about it further, he drifted off to enjoy the first restful night of sleep he’d had since he’d lost Sirius.