|
||||||||
|
||||||||
Author: Majick Story: The Essence Divided Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-DH Status: WIP Reviews: 10 Words: 83,022
"Harry, are you sure you want to do it this way?" Hermione asked, for what Harry knew to be the fifth time that morning. "Yes. Someone needs to keep watch over the cup, and Ron's the best choice," Harry said quietly as they made their way along the unswept street. It was barely past eight in the morning, and the sun was struggling to make its presence felt between the thick cloud and high buildings that left the two friends in permanent shade. They were walking along a nondescript back street, the rear walls of shops forming a foreboding channel along which they dragged their feet. Harry had insisted on being early, in case the hearing was brought forward, as it had been the summer of his fifth year. As he approached the entrance at which Arthur Weasley would be waiting, however, he found himself increasingly reluctant to move onwards. "How's your stomach?" Harry asked. "Better," Hermione replied. "Whatever Bill did worked - the doctors just thought that I'd hurt myself rock climbing." "Rock climbing?" Harry asked, looking in surprise at Hermione, who had never shown any inclination towards athletic activity. "I had to tell them something," she said. "And stop stalling, Harry," she added. "I know you, and you're trying to make sure we spend as little time with Mr. Weasley as possible." "Is it that obvious?" "Yes. He'll be okay, though. He wasn't long out of Hogwarts when he joined the Order." "He was out of Hogwarts, though." "Harry... Do you think you've made the right choice?" "Yes," he replied, vehemently. "Then Mr. Weasley will respect that." Harry wished that he could be as sure as Hermione seemed to be. But he had a feeling that Arthur Weasley would, at the very least, want to know exactly where they had been for the last two months - and what they'd been doing in that time. Harry was surprised to find that the directions that Ron had given them brought them to the foot of a modern high-rise building of at least twenty stories in height. Arthur Weasley sat on a bench outside the main entrance, looking at a fob watch that he dug from his waistcoat pocket every few seconds. "Ready?" Hermione asked. "Sure," Harry said, not even feeling as confident as his slightly uneven voice suggested. "You remember your story?" "Yes. Dumbledore was telling me about my parents, and he began to feel ill. He couldn't Disapparate, so I had to do it." "Good," Hermione said. "Keep it simple, and everything will be fine." "So long as someone doesn't know what we were really doing," Harry said darkly, as Mr. Weasley caught sight of them. "Harry, Hermione," he said, standing to greet them. "I'm pleased to see that you're both well." "Thank you, sir," Harry said, feeling oddly formal. "Is Ron not with you?" "No," Hermione replied. "He didn't want to make it look like there was any conflict of interests by appearing with Harry," Hermione said, smoothly. "We don't want anyone to say that having your son on his side affected how the Wizengamot treats Harry." "Ron said that, did he?" Mr. Weasley asked, raising an eyebrow. But instead of pursuing the matter, he instead opened a door into the building and gestured them inside. "Another entrance," he said simply, as they passed a reception desk where more than thirty people were queuing to speak to a harassed-looking receptionist. "It looks rather busy," Hermione said. "It is. One of the busiest buildings in London, so perfect for us to use," Mr. Weasley said, quietly. They approached a lift with an Out of Order sign hanging crookedly one door. Mr. Weasley looked around to make sure that no-one was paying too close attention to them, and tapped the sign with his wand. "Quickly now," he said, taking them both by the shoulder and pushing them forward. Harry closed his eyes in anticipation of the impact with the metal doors, and only opened them again when Hermione gasped beside him. He looked around, and felt the knot of disquiet in his stomach tighten slightly as he realised that they were back in the atrium at the Ministry of Magic, where he had last faced Voldemort the summer before. "You'll have to register your wands," Mr. Weasley said, pointing them in the direction of the guard's booth. Harry and Hermione presented their wands to the guard, who issued them with badges like the ones they had taken from the phonebooth previously. Harry's read Harry Potter - Wizengamot Hearing. Hermione's simply read Hermione Granger - Visitor. "And now we go downstairs. I'll leave you by the courtroom, and meet you afterwards to see you safely out, okay?" Harry nodded, and followed Mr. Weasley towards a spiral staircase. "The Ministry has decided that we'll all be fitter if we use the stairs more," Mr. Weasley said, and for a moment there was a trace of levity in his voice. It vanished when he added, "All these measures, when there's a war on. I suppose the Minister knows what he's doing." They trooped down several slights, ducking out of the way of paper plane memos that soared and plummeted around them. There was a slight delay around the third landing where two enormously fat wizards were stuck fast, having tried to pass each other on the narrow stairs. "Every morning," Mr. Weasley muttered. He flourished his wand, and there was a pop as the wizards came free, one toppling forward onto the landing, the other falling face-first onto the stairs. They grumbled as they collected themselves and their belongings, but fell silent at the sight of Mr. Weasley's steely glare. Harry wanted to ask if something was wrong, but suspected that Mr. Weasley was simply angry at him, Hermione and Ron. "Well, here we are," Mr. Weasley said, as they reached the bottom of the stairs. "You know your way don't you, Harry? I," and here Mr. Weasley looked extremely unhappy for a moment, "have something else to tend to, and I'm running a little late. I'll be back to pick you up once the panel has delivered its verdict." Mr. Weasley hurried off, leaving Harry and Hermione sharing a surprised look. "So, do you know which way we have to go then?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded, and led the way along the corridor to the chamber where the Wizengamot met. "Er..." he said. "I don't know if you come in with me, or if there's a visitors section..." "Well, I'll come in with you. If I'm not in the right place, I'm sure someone will tell me where to go." Harry nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over him as realised that Hermione had no intention of leaving him alone to face the Wizengamot. She might not have been Dumbledore - Harry's stomach tightened again - but she was every bit as loyal. "Thanks," he said, feeling that the word was wholly inadequate to the task. "Of course," she said, smiling at him. Harry turned the handle on the door and led the way into the room. The dark, hard chair sat isolated in the middle of the floor, the ranks of circular seat looking down on it from a great height. Harry hated the room. Hated the feeling of inferiority that came from being peered down on by the massed ranks of witches and wizards who gathered to pass judgement. "Deep breaths, Harry," Hermione said from behind him. Harry looked up into the darkness. They were very early for the hearing, and there were only a few people already in place. Rufus Scrimgeour was notable by his absence. Perhaps, Harry thought with a smile, he was waiting by the visitor's entrance with a Daily Prophet reporter. A door in the rear wall of the chamber, and a dark shape entered the row of seats. Harry froze, and beside him felt Hermione do likewise. The shape was unmistakable - squat, round, and with a ridiculous bow perched atop its head. "Umbridge," Harry hissed, between gritted teeth. * The clock on the chamber wall read 8.58, and nearly every seat was taken. Harry had taken his seat in the stiff, wooden chair in which he had sat two years before. Hermione had conjured a chair and desk very like the ones in the Transfiguration classroom at Hogwarts. Percy Weasley had arrived with ten minutes to spare, pointedly ignored Harry and Hermione, and taken a seat on the front row, where he now sat with parchment unfurled and quill poised to take notes. The door opened, and a loud clamouring was heard from the corridor beyond. Rufus Scrimgeour entered, the now bright light in the room reflecting off his shiny mane of hair, and revealing a man who looked much more haggard, even from as far away as Harry was, then he had done only a few months before. "Let's get this started," he snapped, as he made his way down the steps to the front row. Percy nodded. "This meeting of the Wizengamot is convened on this day, the 1st of October 1997, to discuss the case of Harry Potter, tried with unlawful Apparition on the evening of the 28th June this year," Percy announced, just loud enough to be heard by Harry and Hermione. "Minister Scrimgeour presiding, on behalf of the prosecution." "Speaking on the defendant's behalf, Hermione Granger," Hermione announced, sounding slightly nervous. Harry looked at her in surprise. "What is this nonsense?" Scrimgeour called. "You can't speak in his defence, Miss Granger!" "The law clearly states that any wizard of age can speak on behalf of any other wizard, either of age, or underage. I am eighteen years old, Minister, and am of age in both the wizarding and Muggle worlds. There is no basis for preventing me from defending my client," Hermione stated, her voice growing calmer and more assured with each word. "You're still at school," Scrimgeour growled. "No, I am not," Hermione said. "In fact, I did not enrol at any educational institution for this academic year." "Ah, so, what are you doing?" Scrimgeour demanded. "Minister, am I on trial here today? I received no notice, and have not been informed of any wrongdoing I may have committed." Scrimgeour subsided, sitting back in his seat with a foul look on his face. Harry stared at Hermione in unabashed admiration. Try as he might, he had never been able to force Scrimgeour to back off as completely as Hermione had just done. "Perhaps I may, Minister?" Umbridge asked, in her syrupy voice. Harry's fingers clenched on the ancient wooden arms of the chair. The wood creaked slightly, as Umbridge rose to her feet. "Miss Granger, I do not doubt that you remember who I am," Umbridge said. "Yes, I do," Hermione replied. "Good. Now, would you be so good as to tell us exactly what yourself and Mr. Potter have been doing since the end of term at Hogwarts in June, please?" "No," Hermione replied. "Firstly, because it is none of your business. Secondly, because it has no bearing on this hearing." Umbridge flushed pink, her cheeks momentarily matching in colour the woolly cardigan draped around her shoulders. "Miss Granger, do you wish to find yourself held in contempt of court?" "Miss Umbridge, I already find myself holding this court in a great deal of contempt," Hermione shot back. Harry risked a glance sideways at her. Her hands remained clasped lightly on the desk in front of her, but her feet were wrapped tightly around the legs of her chair. He didn't think that this would be visible to anyone else, but it worried him, nonetheless. Hermione was baiting the Wizengamot, which he couldn't help but feel was a very risky approach to business. Harry's own experience of such matters suggested that adult wizards did not appreciate impudence from younger people. He attracted Hermione's attention with a brief wave and shot her a warning glance. She nodded shortly, and looked back up at the gallery. "I apologise, Miss Umbridge. Your unorthodox approach to the matter at hand disrupted my chain of thought," Hermione said, and while the words were conciliatory, the tone in which they were delivered was little short of outright abusive. A middle-aged witch behind Umbridge laid a hand on her elbow and whispered to her for several seconds. Umbridge nodded, although she appeared to be bordering on rebelliousness in doing so. Turning back to face the two teenagers, she cleared her throat. "Hem-hem. I apologise as well, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter," she said, icily. "We do appear to have strayed from the matter at hand. Mr. Potter, perhaps you would be kind enough to explain the events of the night in question?" Harry took a deep breath, and nodded. "Professor Dumbledore and I left the Hogwarts grounds to travel to the coastline. I'm afraid I don't know exactly where. He had some information that he wished to discuss with me." "What information was this?" Scrimgeour asked, quickly leaning forward in his seat. He was precariously balanced, seemingly on the verge of pitching forward from the gallery and into the detention area where Hermione and Harry sat alone. "Did it relate to the prophecy naming you as the Chosen One?" Harry focussed carefully on Scrimgeour, trying to exclude all others from his line of sight. "No," he said, calmly. "He wanted to tell me about the night that my parents died." There was a collective release of breath from the gallery. Had Harry not been trying so hard to look sombre, he might have laughed. Hermione, beside him, could not restrain a small titter, although Harry was certain that he was the only one who heard it. Scrimgeour slumped backwards again. Harry was reminded somewhat of Dudley, pouting and scowling when things did not go according to his wishes. "Mr. Potter," another witch had risen to her feet, and with a small measure of relief, Harry recognised the black-haired with as Hestia Jones, a member of the Order of the Phoenix. "If it is not too difficult for you, would you be able to tell the court exactly what Albus Dumbledore said to you?" Harry nodded, and took a deep breath for effect. "He told me that my parents had gone into hiding because Voldemort-" he paused as the assembled witches and wizards murmured in response to the name "- had targeted them for death. He said that they had defied Voldemort three times in some way. He was going to tell me more, but he suddenly began to feel ill." "Could you tell me exactly how he was ill?" "He broke out in a cold sweat," Harry said, repeating the list of symptoms that Hermione had prepared. "He felt dizzy, and wasn't able to focus his vision at all. He also claimed to feel extremely cold, but I felt his forehead, and it was extremely hot." "Thank you, Mr. Potter," Hestia turned to look at a wizard sitting a few seat away. "Richard?" The wizard stood, revealing the white robes of a Healer. "Mr. Potter has described the symptoms of a number of diseases and infections, as I'm sure we are all aware," he said, in a clinical tone of voice. "Unfortunately, the manner of his death did not alert us to search for any malady. However, it is most likely that Dumbledore had contracted a form of influenza. Apparating under such conditions is not recommended." "Thank you," Hestia said. "Under such circumstances, would you advise someone to seek medical attention?" "Usually, yes, and particularly in this case, as Dumbledore was such an important figure in the wizarding world. Unfortunately, Dumbledore at this time was unaccompanied by anyone but an underage wizard, who had not yet passed his Apparition test. What happened next was extremely risky, as the medical histories of side-along Apparition, conducted by someone who had not received the full training, are replete with catastrophic tales of Splinching and other mishaps. It is not uncommon for such events to end in irreparable damage - or even death." For a moment, Harry felt tremendously guilty, but then he remembered that Dumbledore had been much more seriously ill than Harry had just said, and that there had been no choice but to Apparate with him. Splinching hadn't even entered his head - perhaps the reason that the Apparition had been successful. "Richard, thank you," Hestia said again. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot, does anyone else have any further questions?" There was a general murmuring, with a slightly surprised undercurrent that Harry was sure would result in someone objecting that the hearing was apparently over so quickly. But as Umbridge busied herself with her fussy little handbag, and Scirmgeour sat slouching in his seat, arms folded and his attention apparently focused solely on the toes of his boots, no-one stood up to pursue the matter. "Then if there is nothing more, I move to dismiss the charges against Mr. Potter. All in favour?" Hands began to rise. Many hands, a third, almost half, more than half! Harry clenched his hands tightly in his lap as more than three-quarters of the Wizengamot raised their hands. As a few last stragglers joined them, Harry shared a wide grin with Hermione, who beamed back at him. He felt the relief washing over him like a tidal wave. At last he felt the horrible knot of anxiety that had been growing in him since he had received the letter melt away, and he realised that he had been strenuously denying any worry on his own part about how scared he had been about being locked away. Something about Scrimgeour - who had already risen, and was now trying to make his way through the crowd and out of the chamber as unobtrusively as possible - had worried him. Giddy with relief, he stood and turned to face Hermione. "Let's get out of here," he said. Hermione's reply was interrupted by a sharp pop as Hestia Jones appeared alongside them. "Sorry to startle you," she said, with a nod to Harry. "Well done, Mr. Potter. Now, Miss Granger, may I have a word?" Hermione looked surprised. "Nothing to worry about," Hestia went on, her pink cheeks seemingly flushing slightly darker. Catching Harry's gaze, she raised a hand to her face. "I don't like Apparating at the best of times," she said. "Doing it here is like trying to swim through treacle, with all this magic about. Still, I wanted a quick word before you vanished again." Harry looked askance at her, but turned to Hermione. "It's okay, Harry," she said, and Harry noticed that she had drawn her wand, now concealing it in her hand. It saddened Harry slightly that she felt it necessary, but he supposed that she, like he, had felt that the hearing had been over rather too quick. "I'll wait outside with Mr. Weasley, then," he said, looking closely at Hestia once more. But the older witch looked perfectly innocent. "See you in a minute," Hermione said, also focusing on Hestia. Harry walked towards the door, and took one last glance back into the chamber as he turned the doorknob and walked through. The door swung shut behind him, and Mr. Weasley stepped forward. "All done? Not going to jail?" "Yeah. No," Harry said. "I mean, I'm not in any trouble." "Don't be so sure about that, lad," rasped Mad-Eye Moody as he stepped out of the shadows, wand drawn and pointed, if not at Harry, then certainly not away from him. "Down the corridor, quick now." "Professor Moody, what-" "Don't argue, don't waste time. Just move it." Harry looked at Mr. Weasley, but he looked back unmoved. "Hermione," Harry said, turning back to the door. "She's safe, Potter. Hestia won't hurt her." "I know that," Harry snapped, glaring at Moody. "What I want to know is, will she try?" Arthur snorted, and Moody's face pulled into an even fiercer scowl. "Don't waste time, Potter. D'you want to run into Scrimgeour?" "Are you protecting me from him?" Harry demanded. Moody growled, and brought his wand up to point directly at Harry's chest. "Moody-" Mr. Weasley began. "Arthur, we don't have time to coddle the boy. Potter, get along the corridor. Third door on the left, understand?" Harry scowled, but turned to walk along the corridor. He briefly considered running, but knew that he wouldn't make it far before Moody hexed him - or worse. The scarred ex-Auror always carried himself with an air of potential violence - but this was the first time that he'd ever turned it on Harry. "That door there, Potter. Go on in." "What if I don't?" Harry asked, his hand on the doorknob, but his gaze locked firmly on Moody's mismatched eyes. "Then we hex you and carry you in. Don't ask stupid questions." Harry turned the doorknob and opened the door a crack. Then with a yell he kicked the door open, making it slam with a loud crack against something in the room beyond. Spinning around, he flattened himself against the corridor wall, drawing his wand in one smooth motion and bringing the tip of it up and level with Moody's eyes. "You shouldn't give your opponent a chance like that, Potter," Moody said, apparently unfazed. "If you were going to curse me, you'd have done it already," Harry said, every bit as calmly. "If that is you, I mean." "I cleaned my eye in a glass on your uncle and aunt's kitchen table," Moody growled. "And I showed you that photo of the old crowd." Harry nodded, and lowered his wand a fraction. "Mr. Weasley?" "I call my wife Mollywobbles - I know that you heard us when you arrived at the Burrow last year, Harry. Molly was mortified. You did a very good job of covering it, though. Ron would have run screaming from the room." "Very well," Harry said, his voice still calm and controlled. "What am I going to find beyond that door?" "An old teacher," said Professor McGonagall, appearing in the doorway. "Now come on in, Potter. And stop making so much noise. Honestly, I can only be thankful that we chose this room so close to the Unspeakable's main testing laboratories. At least no-one will think anything of it." * Harry sat in the far corner of the room, with Moody and McGonagall between him and the door. Mr. Weasley had tried to look stern when he walked away, but Harry thought that he seemed to be having second thoughts about the subterfuge. "What have you done with Hermione?" he demanded, before Moody or McGonagall could say anything. "Hestia is interviewing her for a position with the Department for Magical Law Enforcement," McGonagall replied. "We had arranged that even before your hearing, but Hestia was impressed with Miss Granger's performance this morning." "You were in the hearing?" "The Headmaster of Hogwarts is automatically a member of the Wizengamot," McGonagall explained. "And you lie very well, Potter." "I wasn't lying," Harry said, stonily. "Well then," Moody said. "That causes us a problem, Potter. Because we think that you are lying." Harry looked unblinkingly at them. "Where I went with Professor Dumbledore is between me and him. If you hadn't all trusted Snape, then you could ask Dumbledore where we were. But he's dead - and so I don't have any reason to trust you, do I? Who knows what you might tell the wrong person." McGonagall's head snapped back as though she'd been slapped. Moody frowned, but said nothing. "If all you're going to do is try and make me admit that Dumbledore and I had some secret pact or mysterious weapon that we were going to use against Voldemort, then you've gone to a lot of effort for no gain. I've said all I'm going to say." "Potter, you know how your parents died. Dumbledore wasn't telling you anything new that night. He took you someplace, and we need to know where." "Why? Because you're going to fight Voldemort? You're not - are you?" Harry snapped, leaping to his feet. Moody and McGonagall leaned backwards in a way that Harry might have thought funny, in another time and place. "No, that's up to me, isn't it? If I did have something to keep secret, guess what I'd do with it?" Neither Moody nor McGonagall replied. "Now, was there anything else?" Harry asked. "Potter, Harry, these are desperate times," McGonagall said. "Surely you can't expect us to just allow you to carry on unchecked. Is that what Albus would have wanted?" "Well, we don't know, do we? He's dead," Harry said savagely, his patience with the two older wizards having worn through. He stood, and made his way to the door, a little surprised that they let him pass. His surprise faded when he found that the door was locked. "Let me go," he said quietly. "Harry, you must listen to reason," McGonagall said. "Why?" Harry spat, turning to face them again. "I told you about Malfoy, and about Snape, and look what happened then. Why should I trust you now?" McGonagall looked stricken, but Moody didn't flinch. "Potter, you're a child. I couldn't give a flying Horcrux about you turning seventeen. You've not lived," he said, in what for Moody was a calm and reasonable tone. "If you survive this war, lad, you'll probably make a great Auror. Chances are you might even end up in charge. You'll find out then that the people in charge make mistakes. And because they have more responsibility, the mistakes they make have a greater effect." Harry sagged. "Yeah, Dumbledore said something like that last year," he admitted. "Dumbledore knew it more than most. Think about how much faith we put in him, Potter. And he let us down, on occasion. He hired Quirrell, and that scum Crouch. And yeah, he trusted Snape and Draco Malfoy. If Dumbledore had a fault, it was giving people another chance to prove themselves. But Potter, how many headmasters would have kept you at Hogwarts after you flew a car into the Whomping Willow? Or believed you when you said you didn't put your name in the Goblet of Fire? "We all make mistakes, Potter - even you. D'you think you did the right thing, cursing Malfoy last year?" "No," Harry said, flatly. Although he didn't particularly regret cursing Malfoy, he'd strayed very close to Dark Magic in doing so, and Malfoy had nearly died. "Well then," Moody said. He settled back in his chair, and used his wooden leg to kick another chair out from under the table. Harry noticed that he was being invited to sit on the other side of the two adults, closer to the door, and recognised it as a small peace offering. "What's the Order doing?" Harry asked, taking his seat. McGonagall and Moody exchanged a glance. Moody shrugged, and McGonagall sighed. "It's very much as we were," McGonagall said. "We're following known Death Eaters, and keeping an eye on suspected members. Of course, without Severus' reports, our inside information is limited." "Could you even trust what he'd been telling you, though?" Harry asked. The issue had been a point of intense debate among himself, Ron and Hermione. "We believe so," McGonagall said. "If Severus was always a double agent, it appears that he maintained his worth to us - and therefore his worth to, well, You-Know-Who - by telling us the truth. Perhaps not the whole truth, but enough that the Order was able to interfere with Voldemort's plans." "But if Snape was a double agent-" "-then Voldemort let us interfere with plans he was happy not to succeed," Moody finished. "We've been able to find some Death Eaters who want to earn their freedom," McGonagall went on. "They may have been coerced, or may have found that the power they gain wasn't worth the price they pay. So long as they keep faith with us, we don't care - not yet. They know they have to pay for their crimes, ultimately, but working with us could help them when it comes to sentencing." "But Dumbledore's death was a heavy blow," Moody said. "The Order has lost its figurehead. We may operate in secret, but it was no secret that Dumbledore was working against Voldemort. We could always rely on people turning to him. And without Dumbledore, Voldemort has grown bolder. I bet you've seen the reports of attacks and killings." Harry nodded. "So, Potter, have you got a way of putting an end to all this?" Moody growled. "I can't break any promises that I had with Dumbledore," Harry said, having been awaiting the question. "But he did tell me something that might help." "Fair enough," Moody said. "Think you can kill Voldemort?" The question stopped Harry short. The thought of taking another living being's life seemed abhorrent to him. But then he thought about how Sirius and Dumbledore had given their lives, and how he would feel if Ron, or Hermione, or - his stomach twisted, and for a moment he felt as though he would be sick - Ginny were in danger. "I think so," he said. "That's what the scum don't get," Moody said, his voice once more low and almost soothing. "You don't kill for power - take that road, and eventually there'll be no-one left alive to have power over. No, you kill to protect the people left behind. That makes you different from them, Potter. Don't forget that." Harry nodded. Hearing Moody say it made him feel better. "So, the Order's doing what it can. You're doing what you can. I don't see any reason why that can't continue. But Potter, don't start thinking that you're on your own out there. I know," he said, holding up a hand. "Granger and Weasley are with you. Without them, I'd have hauled you in the day you went off from Molly and Arthur's - wouldn't have been difficult, either. Here," he picked up a small backpack that had been lying on the table, and threw it at Harry. Harry caught it, and reached for the buckle. "Later, lad," Moody said. "I'm sure Granger will be able to work out what it's for, if you can't." "Alastor, you can't be suggesting-" "I can, and I am. The Order needs to concentrate on what we can do - and that's not what Potter's doing, or Dumbledore would've had us helping last year. No, whatever Potter has to do - it's him who has to do it. "But it's very important, Potter, that you know something. The Order isn't just comprised of brave Gryffindors. Now, we have some of the most intelligent wizards and witches of our time as members. Your friend Lupin, for one. If there's something that you don't know..." Moody seemed to be tempting Harry to ask about Horcruxes - indeed, Harry suddenly realised, he had dropped the word casually into the conversation moments before. "Well, let us know," Moody said suddenly. "Incidentally, Potter, I though I might show you around here, if you have the time." "Alastor-" "Potter wants to be an Auror," Moody said, his voice suggesting nothing but innocent helpfulness. "I thought he might want to see a bit of the place where he'll be working - without having to fight a running duel at the same time, anyway." Harry nodded and stood up, clutching the backpack to him. Nodding to Professor McGonagall, who did not appear at all happy with how the meeting had gone, he followed Moody through the door - which opened at the ex-Auror's touch - and along the corridor beyond. "Amelia Bones used to have me in to lecture now and then," Moody said, as he limped heavily along, his magical eye whirling constantly as he tried to watch everything at once. "And so they're used to me wandering in and out. There's something in particular I want to show you, though." Moody said nothing more as he led Harry up the steps to the lift. They joined a small group of witches and wizards who eyed the pair suspiciously while purple Ministry memos flitted around their heads. "Down here, Potter," Moody said abruptly, a split second before the lift came to a halt on Level Two, which housed the Magical Law Enforcement section. He led Harry into the main office area, through which Harry had passed with Mr. Weasley two summers earlier. Kingsley Shacklebolt's desk was clear now, the myriad photos of Sirius gone from the walls, for which Harry felt mixed feelings of gratefulness and a touch of sadness. A burly wizard with a shaved head was working his way through a long joke in front of two pretty young witches who watched Harry as he passed, to the burly wizard's annoyance. Moody paused at the end of the room, holding open the door as Tonks came through, teetering under the weight of several large files. Harry sprang forward and took the top half of the pile, as he could easily imagine the not-too-graceful young Auror tripping and sending all the files flying. "Oh, thanks," she said in surprise, as she saw Harry. Glancing about, she added, in a low tone. "Wotcher, Harry. I heard your hearing was today. All clear again?" Harry nodded. "How are you, Tonks?" he asked quietly. "Not bad. Remus is well - eating a lot better now I'm keeping an eye on him," she added, with a grin. Harry smiled too, feeling a rush of affection for the Metamorphmagus and her werewolf boyfriend, who had once been his teacher and his parents' close friend. Moody cleared his throat, and Tonks quickly led Harry to her desk, where they deposited the files. "Thanks then," she said, formally, as she winked at Harry. Harry nodded, and made his way back to Moody. "'Ere, did you see that? Harry Potter!" Tonks said from behind him, her excited tone making Harry grin as he passed through the doorway. Moody followed him through. "She's got a good head on her shoulders," Moody growled quietly, as he took the lead again. "No doubt she'll be coming up with some story about how you fancy her now as a cover." Harry grinned again. "Now then, Potter. Down here, you've got the Auror library," Moody said. "One entrance, and one entrance only. You have to be a qualified Auror in good standing even to gain access - or be accompanied by one." Moody paused outside a heavy, round door that reminded Harry of a bank's safe. "Filtered air, magically checked for listening and watching devices every five minutes, randomly checked by an actual human being at least twice a day, fireproof, waterproof, airtight... This is about the safest place in the whole of wizarding Britain, Potter." "Okay," Harry said, a little unsure as to why exactly Moody has brought him here. Moody tapped the heavy door twice with his wand, and there was a prolonged clatter from beyond as it unlocked. The door swung open quickly and silently, and Harry noticed that it was nearly three feet thick. He followed Moody inside, and as soon as both were clear of the threshold, the door swung shut as smoothly and quietly as it had opened. They stood on a stone platform looking out over shelf after shelf of parchment and books, stretching out for hundreds of feet in each direction. A few wizards shuffled along the aisles, until Moody gave a sharp whistle that made Harry jump. At once, the wizards left what they were doing and marched to the front of the room, quickly climbing the stairs and leaving the room in silence. When they were alone - Moody checked with his wand to see if anyone had lagged behind - and the door was shut, Moody turned to Harry. "Not only is this place pretty much as safe as it gets, and probably clear of nasty little spying devices, it's also the biggest repository of knowledge that I know about these things," Moody said. He plunged his right hand into a pocket on his greatcoat, and pulled it out again, clenched around something. He turned the hand over and opened his fingers, just enough to show Harry a gold ring set with a black stone, a jagged crack running down the centre of it. "Where did you get that?" Harry whispered, suddenly very aware of the fact that he was alone in a locked room with a fully-grown wizard who would probably have no qualms about attacking him, if he decided that it was necessary. "Dumbledore's office," Moody said, his voice as low as Harry's. "Potter, Dumbledore wasn't stupid. He laid contingency plans for his death. There's folk in the Order who know what he was doing - not all of it, I'll grant you, but some of it. As far as I know, I'm the only one he told about these, though." "Why?" Harry asked. "Because he needed access to this place. Not even Dumbledore got in here without being accompanied, and he could hardly stop me finding out what he was researching. So, these things are what you're after, then?" Harry hesitated. "Alright, don't say anything," Moody grumbled. "I'll assume that as you recognise this, you know what it is. And that being the case, there's a few things you need to know." "Like what?" "Like how to destroy them, for a start." "You know how?" "I know that there are certain things that they can't resist. Fire, if it's hot and strong enough, will destroy them - did you know that?" Harry shook his head. "Sounds simple, right? But Dumbledore was the only wizard I know who could conjure fire strong enough to do it." Harry nodded remembering the wall of flame that Dumbledore had created when they had fought the Inferi, and how the late Headmaster had created a gift of everlasting flame for the giants. "He had a knack for it - well, he had a knack for a lot of things," Moody said, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. "But fire was his special skill. Now, fire will destroy them, but there'll be a dragon-sized backlash. It cost Dumbledore his hand, so don't go thinking that you can just start chuck them on a campfire." "How do you know this?" Harry asked. "He isn't the first to try it," Mad-Eye went on, his voice dipping still lower. "There's been a few who've done it. Most only do one - I mean, how many would you need? But Dumbledore reckoned seven, including that piece of scum himself. Now, two are gone, as I understand it?" Harry nodded. "That's a start. You got one, Dumbledore got one... Say the word, and the Order will hunt down the rest, Potter." Harry looked at Moody in surprise. "Dumbledore trusted you - more than he ever did anyone else," the former Auror went on, not batting an eyelid. "Some of that may have been the situation you were in, I don't know. But if Dumbledore trusted you, I reckon I'd be betraying him by not doing the same." Harry felt his breath hitch, and for a moment, to his slight surprise, he felt tears welling up. Moody, seemingly understanding, wandered off a few steps and pulled several rolls of parchment from the shelves. "Here," he said, tapping each roll with his wand. Harry felt the knapsack, which he had slung over his shoulder, grow slightly heavier with each tap. "Useful copying spell that," Moody said, conversationally. "Makes copies in the spellcaster's handwriting. They don't teach it at Hogwarts - kids'd all end up with the same homework. Around here, though, it's pretty useful. Your miss Granger'll probably like what I've just given you. And you might find a couple of things that'll help you, too." "I... can't ask the Order to help," Harry said. "No, I didn't think you would," Moody said. "We've got our own things to get on with," he added. "You'll keep Voldemort busy?" Harry asked. Moody nodded. "As much as we're able. Shame to lose Snape. Quite liked watching him work off his debt. Suppose he thought he wasn't ever going to be trusted properly by us, though," he mused. "He wasn't stupid, I'll give him that." "Dumbledore trusted Snape," Harry said, feeling that Moody was being somewhat hypocritical in trusting him, but not Snape. The comparison didn't make him feel particularly good about himself. "Potter, Severus Snape went dark before you were born," Moody said. "And once a wizard goes dark, it dominates his destiny, forever." "I've used an Unforgivable curse," Harry blurted out. "Twice," he added, with a little more control. "Used 'em myself, from time to time," Moody growled. "Which one?" "The Cruciatus curse," Harry said. "Yeah, most Aurors try that when they get the chance. Most of 'em learn they don't have the hatred inside 'em to pull it off properly. Same with you, I'd imagine. You've broken a few other rules in your time, Potter," Mad-Eye added, with a lopsided grin. Harry nodded. "Listen, don't go shouting it from the rooftops, but don't drown in self-pity either, got me? The best of us lose our tempers from time to time, and if the worst you ever do in your life is a poor attempt at the Cruciatus curse, well, you'll not have too much to worry about." "Thanks." Moody slotted the parchments back into their shelves, and clumped over to the door. "Listen, Potter, if you ever need help, then we'll be available. You know how to reach us, yeah?" Harry nodded. "Right. In the meantime, read those parchments, keep an eye on the bag, and good luck to you." Moody paused, and looked Harry in the eyes. "No matter what happens, you'll need it." (AN: Thanks to Aggiebell, as always, for the beta-reading. And thanks - at last - to my wife, who has finally started reading this. After I set up the laptop in front of her, pointed at it, and said "Read!" Still, we got there in the end...)
|