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Author: hwimsey Story: The Coven of Echoes Rating: Teens Status: Completed Reviews: 40 Words: 163,077
When not ferrying students to and from London, the Hogwarts Express serviced the stretch of track between Kilgraith and Hogsmeade -- or as the locals referred to it, the “Hogkill Pass.” That afternoon it appeared as though every mother and child in wizarding kind was aboard. Halloween was fast approaching and what couldn’t be purchased in Kilgraith was surely to be found in Hogsmeade. Most of the youngsters appeared to have been bribed with a promised trip to Honeydukes and a side detour to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes II if they behaved. The Weasleys’ newest store was wildly popular thanks to its current offering of dragon line products which included bubble gum that caused the chewer to breathe fire and body lotion that after one application produced a shiny coat of dragon skin, complete with talons. Enticements aside, nothing compared with the sight of real live Aurors aboard the Hogwarts Express. A swarm of small faces ogled the three of them constantly, pointing and whispering in apparent awe. Harry finally whipped out his wand and frosted the glass of their compartment despite Ron’s adamant protests to the contrary. “Aw, come on, let them have their fun. We’re a national treasure, we are.” “Stuff it,” said Harry, the green of his eyes darkening behind his frames. Harry hated being here. The stress of the Recantio Resonus spell and thirty hours sleep deprivation must have blurred his thinking. Tonks’ suggestion that they take the train to Hogwarts seemed like a good idea at the time. It would allow them time to pour over the rolls of parchments they had obtained from the Sceptuchus office detailing the Death Eaters’ movements. Yes, it seemed like a perfectly good idea until he saw the brilliant scarlet engine. Seconds later his insides began to tighten in painful knots. Its familiar compartments held too many memories, memories he wasn’t ready to face. For having to face his old school was one thing, but having to face this train, the very train she had disappeared on that night, was gut wrenching. The memory taunted him. Midnight, screaming in the pouring rain, tears blinding him, running after her until he grabbed his sides in painful agony, only billows of steam remaining, rising like sighs above the tracks. One year ago. One year almost to the day. He closed his eyes and rested his weary head against the cool glass of the window. When was he going to forget? Why couldn’t he forget? “It’s worse than I thought,” said Tonks, forcing Harry to turn from the window, rubbing his tired eyes. She had been highly out of sorts since boarding the train. Only minutes earlier while they waited on the platform, an owl had delivered her a red inked message from the Ministry. It incinerated instantly after she read it. Harry had rarely seen her so on edge. When asked what it contained Tonks had snapped, “An answer to an inquiry.” She then buried herself in resuming her search through the scrolls of parchments. “The wards are a complete bollocks,” she spat. “Carrows and Yaxley had been passing in and out of Kilgraith for weeks, damn it.” She paused, holding the page closer. “But wait, that’s odd.” “What?” “They only passed through the wards at night.” Sure enough the hours listed for entry and departure all read well after dark. “Probably staying in Edinburgh during the day. It’d allow them the anonymity they needed,” Ron said, scrutinizing the list upside down while ripping open a packet of chocolate frogs. “Fancy one?” Harry reflexively grabbed a hold of one and chewed on it and began to inspect the list in front of him. “Plus, if there were others, they could reconvene without drawing any undue attention to themselves.” The words came out sharply even through a mouthful of chocolate. “Others? What makes you think there are others?” asked Tonks, glancing up at him. “These people, these renegade Coven members, have already been hunted on two continents. The Death Eaters are desperate—we’ve known that for a while. Just because they’ve gone underground doesn’t mean they’ve lost any of their delusional beliefs.” “Like bringing You-Know …Voldemort back,” voiced Ron, still fighting to pronounce the evil wizard’s name. “He’s dead, damn it,” cursed Harry, chucking the wrapper to the side. “We’ve killed every part of him. You can’t make something out of nothing. When are people going to realize that?” The train rocked side to side and they could hear the sounds of children running merrily down the corridor. When for Merlin’s sake were people going to stop believing it? Harry thought bitterly. He sighed, his whole being bone-tired, and in frustration fell back against the window. Even after the war, rumors still ran rife through the wizarding world. “He came back from the dead before, what’ll stop him from doing it again?” scared people would cry, convinced that, despite their deepest hopes, the fear would never leave, they would never be allowed to be happy--the other shoe was just waiting to drop. The truth was, late at night, alone in his flat, Harry would bolt upright in the same terrified cold sweat, gripped by the same inexorable fear. It’s what drove him with an almost inhuman desire to finish off every last one of Voldemort’s followers. There would be no aiding and abetting the devil. There would be peace. He had promised her that after Charlie’s death. Even if she didn’t believe in promises anymore, he did. “We’re here,” Tonks announced, rolling up the parchments after peering out the windows. In order to save time, they had decided to Apparate to the gates and walk the rest of the way to the castle. Harry glanced at his colleagues, Ron seemed to have risen several inches off the ground. A sharp pang filled his heart. Stop it, he ordered himself. It is what it is. Just march up to the castle, explain what you need and leave. Let him enjoy himself. In and out. It’s just business. The cool, crisp autumn air whipped their robes around like flags as they strode three across along the grounds. Looking up, Harry forced back the rise of emotion that the sheer presence of this place elicited in him. Stay focused. It’s just business. Business. He shoved his hands into his pockets, forcing his mind to the task and trudged on ahead. The wind bit at his cheeks, carrying with it the familiar scents of fresh cut grass and burning leaves. The sun was too bright. His weariness seemed to amplify everything. Even the shouts of passerbys seemed bombastic. One voice, though, rocked the stones about them. Harry stopped in his tracks. “Well, look at yeh three! What’re doin’ here withou’ sendin’ an owl ter yer old professor?” The booming outline of Hagrid thudded its way over a small hill. The war had changed him very little: he still looked like a mountain of a man and any lines that his face might bear were hidden beneath his riotous beard. Perhaps a few more bunches of gray had sprouted up amidst the brown, but his body still seemed to shake the very earth below it. A long rope lay wrapped around Hagrid’s hand, the other end held strangely taut. Suddenly, the earth did begin to shake. There, lumbering over the crest of the hill, was one of the most miserable looking creatures Harry had ever seen. It appeared as though a dinosaur and a camel had been merged in some genetic experiment gone terribly wrong. The animal’s heavy-set body sat upon four stout legs all of which were covered in gray scales, some falling off and leaving oozing patches underneath. Three large rounded spikes protruded from the top of its back creating what looked like two saddles. Its tail consisted of three long thin spikes that spread out like the spokes of a hand fan, the type that a Japanese geisha might use. Swinging its camel-like head side to side, it eyed the Aurors with suspicion, its immense inner eyelid blinking repeatedly. The swaying caused its spiraling ear lobes to flap heavily against the side of its head. Without warning, a series of deep-throated bellows emanated from the creature’s mouth, the rounded spike on its forehead reddening. It lumbered forward, straining the rope, its jaws snapping in anger.
“Isn’ she beau’ful? Bred her from an egg. Hatched just last month.” “How big does she get?” asked Ron, his face a study. “Oh, not much more, I reckon. Only two er three yards.” “Yards!” cried Tonks, staring at the creature’s ominous looking tail. “In what direction? What is she by the way?” “She’s a Diplotract, a Diamond Diplotract, one of the last of her kind, poor girl.” “She’s a dinosaur?” asked Harry, dumbfounded. “Lucy’s no dinosaur, she’s a--” “Lucy?” cried Ron, shaking his head in disbelief. “Hagrid, you seriously aren’t going to bring that near a group of students, are you?” “Don’ see why not. I gotta show ‘em how she ‘acclimates to her envir’ment’, like the book says. She's an amphibian.” “Hagrid, salamanders are amphibians, not the Loch Ness Monster.” With that the Diplotract raised her neck and howled, a row of smaller spikes near her head jutting out in fury. “Now look what ye’ve done, upsettin’ her! You miss yer mummy, don’t ye, sweetheart?” The howling continued, her neck rising higher and higher in the air, telescoping out of her body. With a significant look and a raised eyebrow, Hagrid pulled a pink umbrella from within the cavernous folds of his cloak. He pointed it at Lucy and said, “Aguamenti,” causing a jet of clear water to gush from its tip and bathe Lucy from head to toe. The change was incredible. Loch Ness Monster or no, this creature belonged in the water. The scales began to tighten about Lucy’s body girding the creature like a suit of armor, the gray color replaced with dazzling iridescence shining silver in the bright afternoon sunshine. Webbing slowly materialized between the fanned spikes of her tail, creating a powerful fin. Webbing also grew between the spikes of her neck, creating an almost bumpy dorsal notch. Looking down at the puddle forming at her feet, Harry saw her three toes morph into massive duck-like appendages. In near rapture, the Diplotract wrapped its long neck over Hagrid’s shoulders and snorted happily. “Puff the Magic Dragon, it ain’t,” muttered Harry to which Ron retorted, “Makes you wish for Norbert, doesn’t it?” “Remus!” cried Tonks to the familiar figure ambling down the hill and hurried to meet him. “Ron, Harry, it’s wonderful to see you. I was so pleased I received Tonks’ owl in time. You’re both looking well.” “Same here, Professor.” Ron smiled, shaking his hand. “Harry.” They stared at one another, the wind whistling through the colored trees behind them. Never had Harry seen Remus look more content. He seemed to blend into the scenery, his sweater and trousers so fitting that of a professor. Harry knew that the cause of his ease stood with her arm wrapped about his waist, her own pink hair flaring as though it were smiling, too, even though her face remained serious. Instantly Harry looked away, unable to hold Remus’ steady gaze. He cleared his throat and regarded the turrets of Gryffindor Tower. “Sir.” “Oh come now, Harry.” A smile warmed Remus’ whole face, touching something within Harry, something Harry was struggling to suppress with all his might. “Isn’t it about time you began to call me Remus?” “Remus.” The two men shook hands before Harry pulled his hand away suddenly and stared at the ground near his feet. Remus glanced at Tonks who merely tilted her head knowingly toward the castle. “Come on, then,” cried Hagrid, breaking the silence. “The Headmistress is gonna be wantin’ to see ye straight away. Off ye go. I'm gonna take Lucy back ter the lake fer a dip before ‘er nap. Now don’t ye forget to stop in before ye head back. Gotta bit of cake down at the house.” Remus’ eyebrow raised a fraction of an inch as all four of them headed off toward the castle. Evidently Lucy’s reputation preceded her. “I hope you don’t mind, but the Headmistress has asked that I attend the meeting; she believes that I may be able to lend assistance, although I’m not quite certain how.” Harry nodded, finding it hard to speak. They had passed through the doors to the Entrance Hall. In some strange paradox, he realized the last time he had stood on this spot was the first time he had committed murder. His mouth compressed to a thin line and he forced the air out of his lungs as though it hurt him. Inhaling the familiar scent of his old home, he walked, head down, hurrying to catch up with the group as they headed toward the Astronomy Tower. “Glenlivet,” Remus spoke firmly to the gargoyle statue. It leapt aside and the wall behind it split in two, revealing the spiral stone staircase. Ron snorted in amusement. “She doesn’t fancy Acid Pops, I take it?” Tonks glared at him as the stairs ground to a stop. The Headmistress’ office remained just how Harry remembered, perhaps a tad bit neater. The large and beautiful circular room was bathed in sunlight, the windows opening to vistas of the surrounding mountains. The portraits of previous Headmasters and Headmistresses gazed down at the newly arrived, voicing their opinions about everything from Tonks’ hair to Ron’s trousers. Robes tossed over their arms, the Aurors were dressed in off-hours clothes: Harry and Ron in white oxford shirts and worn jeans and Tonks in a purple miniskirt and black leather jacket with matching boots. Harry’s eyes scanned the wall until they fell on the familiar face. He still remained asleep. After all these years, Albus Dumbledore had never awoken. A tug of sadness squeezed at Harry’s heart. “Mr. Weasley, Miss Tonks, and,” the Headmistress stepped down from an upper landing, her hand outstretched, “Mr. Potter.” Harry took her hand and shook it respectfully. He could feel her eyes scrutinizing him as all old professors are want to do. Her satisfied smile was tempered with something melancholy. My parents. She’s thinking about my parents. At twenty-six, Harry was now the spitting image of his father, save his Auror’s physique: sleek and muscular, the result of years of intense physical training. While not as tall as Ron, he had grown into a type of laconic grace. This coupled with his handsome face was already a lethal combination, but add to that his mother’s emerald eyes and he was downright unnerving to those who had known Lily and James as well as those who had not. “Professor,” Harry replied, “it’s a pleasure to see you again.” “I had been wondering when we might have the pleasure of your company again, Mr. Potter. You’ve been notoriously absent from these halls. I hope you will remedy that in the future?” “I’m sorry, Professor, the Ministry keeps us busy.” “So it would seem.” She regarded the gathering before her as she made her way across the room. “Well, let us sit down. I’ve had a few refreshments brought up; I’m partial to having my breakfast a bit late on the weekends and at my age I do not like to vacillate from routine.” A gathering of chairs sat before the fireplace surrounded by a scrumptious collection of scones and croissants. As if reading Ron’s mind, Professor McGonagall stated, “The house elves moved to accept a quarterly stipend.” Her lips thinned out at the comment. Evidently Hermione had been busy. Before long they’d probably have their own union. After the tea was poured, Tonks began, “Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice, Professor. You see we’ve come across a curse during our investigation in Kilgraith and we’ve never encountered anything like it before.” She then proceeded to give a concise summary of their findings in Dreidour Alley causing the room to grow silent, both Remus and Professor McGonagall listening attentively. “Both this man and the family were on the run from this Coven of Echoes. We don’t know why. The only other renegade Coven member that we know of was killed in the States earlier this year. He, too, had the flesh systematically removed from his upper arm. “Now it appears both Death Eaters and members of this Coven of Echoes are clearly after something this family possessed. We believe it to be the father’s wand. But whatever it is, it’s escaped into the hands of their colleague, this Mr. X, who we believe was seriously injured during the assault in Dreidour Alley. “So we need to determine two things: one, what’s the makeup of this curse that hit them all, and two, how does it manifest itself.” “The two Death Eaters who were captured died shortly after we had them in custody,” explained Ron. “We need to find out if this Mr. X is facing the same end and if so, is there a possible antidote. We need to find him alive. We need to get to him before anyone else does because whatever the Death Eaters want to possess and whatever these Coven wizards want to protect, it’s been worth a whole lot of death and torture.” “The curse left this blackened residue and we were hoping we could use Professor Flitwick and Professor Granger to help us analyze,” added Tonks. “Professor Granger could potentially provide us with a thorough breakdown of its components and Professor Flitwick may have some knowledge of the spell used. In addition, we would like access to the Restricted Section of the library for our research.” “Yes, of course, you may have access while you’re here.” Professor McGonagall waved her hand dismissively at this remark. “You may also find it useful to speak with Professor Granger about her work in linking the library to that of the Canticle. It’ll allow you access to a great deal of information in addition to that found at Hogwarts. But I would advise you not to make your research common knowledge.” Her tone turned abrupt here. “It has taken us many years to return this school to normalcy.” Harry noticed Ron shoot a glance his way at the mention of the word ‘normal’ as if Hogwarts could ever be considered normal. “I do not want the students unduly alarmed, so please be aware of where you are at all times and what you say. Do not look at me that way, Mr. Weasley. It wasn’t that long ago that you and your cohorts prowled these halls, sticking your noses into everyone else’s business.” Ron slouched back down into his chair. Time hadn’t softened McGonagall one iota. The rest of the tea dissolved into pleasantries and before long Ron had excused himself, followed by the others. “Mr. Potter, I’d like to have a word with you before you leave, if I may.” Harry stopped dead in his tracks, moments before escaping the room. He exchanged a glance with Tonks. “We’ll be in the dungeons,” she informed him then leaned across Remus and whispered, “Now mind your P’s and Q’s.” Harry grimaced at her retreating form, the oak door shutting soundly in his face. Taking her seat behind her desk, she motioned Harry to a nearby armchair. How many times had he sat here, staring at the desk’s enormous wooden claw-feet? His eyes rose to meet Dumbledore’s silver inkpot and scarlet quill set lovingly aside, unused. The sense of déjà vu was stifling and Harry felt the sudden need to stand, but instead he reached out reflexively to the bowl of candy. Before he knew it, Professor McGonagall was peering over her spectacles at him, one eyebrow arched. He quickly pocketed a few into his robes and retreated back into his chair. “The Quidditch pitch is lovely this time of year, don’t you think?” He followed the Headmistress’ gaze to the far casement window, a view of the green expanse evident. “Gryffindor has the most promising team I’ve seen in quite some time. It would do you good to attend a game now that you’ve returned.” “I don’t think I--” “I am not sure if you are aware of this, but Professor Slughorn is retiring this year,” she continued. “And with that retirement we find ourselves, yet again, in need of a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I must say, I am glad to be able to discuss this position without the infamous stipulation that taking the post usually requires the occupant to quit or die. Our illustrious Professor Slughorn has lasted nearly ten years now. Before I go any further, I need to tell you that this position has been offered to Remus Lupin, despite some misgivings from a small group of parents. The valor he displayed during the war allowed me to approach the Board of Governors who unanimously voted in favor of his appointment.” “Professor Lupin was one of the finest teachers I ever had, Professor; Hogwarts would be lucky to have him.” “Yes we would be, but unfortunately we won’t be getting that opportunity. Remus has graciously declined our offer. His work with the Ministry is of the utmost importance right now and he is loath to part from it. He did, however, recommend another individual whom he felt would prove excellent in the role.” “Well that’s good news. Have you extended the offer?” The room suddenly became very still. The buzzing and whirling of Dumbledore’s old silver instruments were the only sounds. He glanced up at Fawkes’ vacant perch before returning his gaze to the cat-like eyes before him. No. Harry’s eyes widened, his suspicions turning into fact as the hint of a prim smile curled the sides of the Headmistress’ lips. “Before you offer me all the reasons you cannot accept this position, I would like you to take some time to consider this not merely from a professional perspective, but from a personal one.” “But, Headmistress--” “Mr. Potter, I have known you for a great many years. I would not offer you this position if I did not agree with Professor Lupin.” “I’m an Auror, ma’am. It’s what I’ve wanted to be for most of my life. In fact, if it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t--” “And you have become an outstanding Auror from what I hear. But,” her softened tone caused him to pause, “is it what you want -- now?” “Death Eaters are still a very real threat, Professor. I can’t leave until--” “Until what? Until every last Death Eater has disappeared off the face of the earth? I’m sorry, Mr. Potter, but I fear that day will never come. Even if you were to remove them all, the very nature of wizarding kind would produce a new order. The very lure of Dark magic is too strong and will remain ever thus. The only real way of combating evil is at the root of the cause: within the minds of the young. Children learn to emulate their heroes; an entire generation looks up to you, Mr. Potter.” “I never wanted that, Professor. I never asked for that,” he said ruefully. “I know, but that is what has happened. The question now is how you turn that to the greater good. Am I right in assuming that a role for the Minister has been offered to you already?” “Yes, ma’am.” “And you have turned them down, as well you should. I cannot imagine the pressure you have endured living in the public spotlight and to continue down that road would be tantamount to suicide, I think. I only ask that you consider the fact that you will not be around forever to defend us all. The more lives you can touch, the more young minds you can guide toward the use of restraint, the more futures you can craft. That may give you the satisfaction I believe you are so desperately searching for.” “But I couldn’t—do you know what my presence here would create?” “I am totally aware.” She paused. “Mr. Potter, I have lived through a great many scandals and defamations. I have banished all press from these grounds during my tenure, with the exception of Miss Lovegood. She’s harmless enough, don’t you think?” “Luna? Luna Lovegood?” “Why yes, she’s on the faculty here, just started this term. Teaches music and is the faculty advisor of the Hogwarts Tribune. We’ll be having a marriage ceremony here at Christmas; I was informed by Professor Longbottom that the owls will be bearing the invitations next week.” The double shock of his old classmates teaching and getting married made him blink in surprise. “When, when did this all happen, Professor?” “Life happens when we are busy with other things, Mr. Potter. Now, if you excuse me, I have a meeting. I’m already quite tardy.” Before they parted at the door, Professor McGonagall reached out and patted his arm. “Make yourself at home here, Harry. It has always been your home.” Her eyes glistened brightly and with a swish of her cape, she was gone. Left alone in the majestic office, he felt breathless, as though he had fallen hard off his broom. Hogwarts. He had never considered teaching here -- even in his wildest dreams. He was an Auror. The idea was ridiculous. Preposterous. Yet . . . To walk along the lawns again, to feel the wind through his hair, to see the looks of rapture on young faces that only a favorite teacher could impart, to be only one stop away from Kilgraith, to be nearer to her. . . Harry gazed about the room. The portrait of his old mentor and friend hung amidst the countless other Headmasters and Headmistresses who watched him, an air of satisfied amity steady in their countenances. No response came from the gilded frame. The kind face lay peacefully, offering neither hope nor compassion. In that moment, Harry painfully remembered the hours he spent before the Mirror of Erised, staring at the deepest desires of his heart. Closing his eyes, he cursed himself for his foolish dreams. He sighed heavily. He knew what he would see if he looked that mirror today. Just like his first encounter with the mirror, the reflection he would see would be nothing but an illusion. “Goodbye, sir,” he said before he turned, the door shutting solidly behind him.
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