Chapter 78: Chapter 74: Instigating the investigation of past tragedies
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When the time arrived for Harry to leave, all good things came to an end eventually, neither of the pair really wanted to separate. However, sitting in the car parked at the train station wasn't something they could sustain indefinitely even with their top-tier banter, and thus eventually they had to let go.
"It was a nice weekend," Harry commented.
"Just nice?" Tonks asked with a cheeky smile, causing the boy to roll his eyes.
"It was amazing, Tonks. I'm looking forward to Hogwarts already," he said. He really enjoyed having a weekend where he could shoot the shit, drive a car, smoke some weed and hang out with some students.
"Don't go back on your promise about the Mind Arts, I'll start badgering my mom but I don't know if she'll relent," Tonks said.
"All in due time, bro," Harry chuckled. "First got a duelling championship to win."
Tonks rolled her eyes but leaned in to give him a hug. "Good luck, Harry. Learn as much as you can from your inevitable loss and knock 'em dead next year."
It wasn't easy to walk away, take his trunk and leave for the train back to London, but Harry was mature enough to manage. He'd see her again soon, in Hogwarts. He suddenly felt less lonely, not even having realised previously that he'd been feeling so.
He returned home with a heavy heart, knowing that he was leaving behind a fun get-away with a friend for the responsibility of dealing with a Horcrux, trying to win a duelling championship he didn't stand a chance in, learning legillimency and preparing for his O.W.L in Arithmancy. Now that he suddenly had someone to spend meaningful time with, Harry found his schedule cumbersome.
Hopefully, that wouldn't last, or else he would never get done with all the shit he had to do.
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There was a particular reason why Harry took the train back to London, despite now having a house-elf he could call on to teleport him around. Firstly, this was because he had a lot of things to consider, for which he needed some solitude, and secondly, because in all the excitement of the weekend, he'd forgotten that he had a house-elf which could bring him back faster. Of course, objectively a train wasn't necessarily the most peaceful place to ponder, but already in his last life, when he'd had to commute to university via train, and had used the time to study, he'd always considered it somewhat calming. People on public transport generally didn't give a single shit about anyone else, and thus it became the perfect place to reflect in the anonymity of the crowd. Also, he liked trains, the Hogwarts Express had been taking him home when he wanted to go home, and to school when he wanted to go to school. In other words, it was pretty great.
Also, it was sort of funny, to be sitting in a compartment with what seemed to be a professor reading a book on diachronic linguistic development and a younger woman absorbed in chatting on the phone, about her latest beau. It provided an ironic background to the things going on inside Harry's head.
Dumbledore had presumably broken into Gringotts to get to the Horcrux there and had presumably destroyed it. The diadem was similarly gone. This left the locket and the ring of which Harry did not know the fate. Maybe Neville Longbottom was also a Horcrux, but that was a bit hard to verify.
Of course, Harry wasn't particularly worried about any of those, as their fate was out of his control. He'd simply have to trust in the fact that Dumbledore wasn't making a complete fool out of himself out there, with the information Harry had given him.
Harry himself, would be responsible for the destruction of the diary, hidden as it was under the ground at his hide-out. Destroying it was the obvious solution, no matter how tempting plumbing the mind of a burgeoning dark lord on all things magic and hidden passages would likely be. For that task, he could learn either the killing curse or Fiendfyre, the former of which would probably be less destructive if cast incorrectly. The latter would maybe be something he'd have to experiment with in the Room of Requirement, as long as it could offer him a safe space to do so in.
Anyway, getting rid of the diary Horcrux was an immense task indeed, but not something Harry could control beyond getting the blasted thing and casting curses at it until it broke.
What he was much more worried about was his impending teaching of Draco Malfoy and Nymphadora Tonks in the fine art of Occlumency. The hat had recently described his defences as adequate, so the hopes were that this would translate decently enough into the offensive aspect of the Mind Arts, once Harry talked to his mentor about starting that part of his tutelage.
An additional problem was Dobby, now bound to him, and not having nearly enough work to distract himself. Hopefully, the clearing wouldn't be in chaos when he came back, although maybe the fact that the house-elf had not sought him out since he'd left for Manchester was a good sign.
In comparison to dark lords, mind arts and house-elves the duelling championship coming up actually seemed relatively easy. He just had to show up and either win or lose.
Even his next appointment would potentially be more complex than that, which was why he was going to London to finish it as quickly as possible. He needed to start checking things off his list, or else he was going to go insane from the pull he was experiencing in different directions.
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Getting off at the Grand Central and slipping into a nearby café of no particular importance was easy. Waiting for half an hour was a bit more annoying, but it was his own fault. He'd scheduled the meeting a bit later due to the possibility of missing one train, in which case he would have had to have taken the next one.
He slowly sipped at the shitty tea he'd ordered, and gotten, so as to justify sitting there. He probably looked weird, a lone 12-year-old at the biggest train station in the country. But, with his recent growth spurt, it looked more natural. His cheekbones protruded a bit more and he'd grown taller, and leaner. If this change could be attributed to age or to his now regular sword training remained in the air, but Harry appreciated the lack of clumsiness that his recent athletic endeavours had granted him. He still remembered how in his last life, his teenage years had involved a lot of falling down stairs and hitting his head on things.
It was good to train for that to not happen because if he fell down one of the moving staircases at Hogwarts, he might just never get back up again.
It was into that morbid atmosphere that the blonde reporter entered, looking perfectly at home in the muggle surroundings, dressed in a pair of washed-out jeans and a white shirt. She seemed to have not applied any of the severe make-up other than her violently red lipstick, and her hair was at the least curly that Harry had ever seen. She looked around inquisitively for a few seconds before her gaze zeroed in on Harry and she strode over.
"Success suits you, Rita," Harry joked as she sat down. "As does the new look, has anyone told you that you look effortlessly beautiful when you're not trying to look professional?"
The reporter threw him a withering glare. "That's the point. I don't want to be beautiful in the workplace. Then they'll just treat me like a woman, not a reporter." She paused. "Well, regardless, thank you for the compliment." A twitch of her wand, hidden in the sleeve of her shirt made a waitress that had been approaching them suddenly stop in her tracks and look around confusedly, before going to another table, at which two men in suits were loudly arguing over the success of Stratton Oakmont in America and if they should invest.
"A notice-me-not," the reporter said at Harry's inquisitive gaze.
The boy rubbed his chin contemplatively, it really was a useful spell, wasn't it? He already knew how to cast it, but maybe it deserved further exploration. Rita's use seemed more natural than his and he couldn't help but notice how decisively no one even glanced at them anymore.
"Anyway, I don't appreciate being stood up last week, so you better have something good," she said with a scowl.
Harry shrugged, he'd actually had a meeting planned with Skeeter when he'd gotten derailed by Narcissa Malfoy and the Horcrux, but it wasn't like there was anything one could do about that. It was his fault of course, but he was here to negotiate, and that meant not taking any shit, especially well-deserved shit. "You know how it is for those of us leading successful careers and lives full of ambition. There are so many forces desiring our attention and pulling it ragged in all directions. Thankfully people like you are more flexible."
Skeeter raised a blonde eyebrow. "Did I come here to be disrespected by a child?" she asked.
"Rita," Harry said sardonically. "We don't have to pretend that we're friends. I needed that article last year as much as you did, it was mutually beneficial. You've been actually publishing stuff in the Daily Prophet these days, you have a career to speak of now. Me, I got all the idiots off my ass who believed the ministry bullshit. But," he raised a finger. "Let's not commit to this secondary education level banter. I had something come up and I had to reschedule, it must have been alright with you if you came to meet me today, so stop trying to leverage and talk to me, half-blood to half-blood."
The woman huffed and crossed her arms. "What MBA program did you escape from," she muttered, before shaking her head. "You talk about me having a career? People just noticed that I exist so I get some stories, but it's none of the big stuff. Just exposés and letter of the week columns."
"Well, that's what being a reporter is like sometimes until you've built your network, or figured out a way how to legally access non-public information and reveal it for the shock factor," Harry said. He didn't really understand the job, to be honest. Who wanted to be out there writing about how Helen, 49, had broken a hip flying the newest Nimbus while drunk and was demanding restitution? Sounded like some circle of hell.
Investigative journalism, maybe? Everything one had to do before that, to get there? Hell no.
"What do you want?" Skeeter asked, getting to the point.
Harry tutted and shook his head. "That's the wrong question, Rita. Rather than asking what you can do for Harry, you should ask what Harry can do for you."
The woman mulled it over. "Did you try to quote Kennedy at me?" she asked. "Badly?"
"Well, Rita, you're still not asking the right questions. I thought that was the point of being a reporter."
The woman sighed and rubbed her temples with her overly manicured fingers. "What can you do, for me? Harry."
"Well, I've always lived by the motto, "Those who dare to fail miserably can achieve greatly.""
An exasperated groan from the woman.
"To this purpose, I have, over the last year at Hogwarts, been seeking out personal tutoring from Professor Flitwick in all manners regarding duelling. That is because I shall be participating in this year's U17 Internation duelling championship," he explained.
"Flitwick was the last wizard to bring the trophy to England," Rita mused.
"Well, there is also Dolohov," Harry amended.
"Let's not talk about him," the reporter retorted, seemingly lost in thought. "You don't stand a chance, you know. Fail miserably indeed."
"Define failure, in this context," Harry prompted. "A thirteen-year-old signing up is the height of arrogance. I'm a modern-day Icarus, baby; fly too close to the sun then crash and burn. But, I don't have to escape the labyrinth, I just have to stay in the air long enough to exceed people's expectations. When I get those tongues wagging, and I still have four more tournaments ahead of me? I'm gonna get eyes."
"Everyone will expect you to lose out in the first round," Skeeter agreed. "If you manage to make it beyond that…"
"Then it's already a contextual win. Sure, people may laugh at the idiot who signed up and only lasted two rounds, but they'll all know deep down that if they'd done the same at age thirteen they wouldn't have even managed to leave the country without crying for their mothers."
"I assume you're dangling an article in front of me?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah, you'll be my personal liaison, no matter how it goes. If I lose miserably I'll take an interview and you can take me for a fool, if I get far enough to not be considered a fraud, you can show me as a glowing bastion of Hogwarts, and the British education system."
"Britain's largest contributions to the circuit in recent times have been a half-goblin and a Death Eater, people aren't that excited about the sport at the moment," Rita argued.
"Maybe it's time to add a half-blood to the list. People are already interested in me due to the class advancement. Britain needs a win after the last decade of sheer embarrassment. They'll love me, or love to hate me. Either one indicates a good reader response to your article."
"You'd be alright with being embarrassed in front of the whole country? I thought avoiding that was the whole point of the damage control you had me do with the Patronus." Skeeter queried sceptically.
"Who cares if I don't win next year, I have five tries. Most people don't even sign up until they're sixteen, they're missing out on valuable experience. I know I won't win now, and I probably also won't win next year. But… in four years? When I'll be sixteen, I think I'll have a good chance. One win will be enough for people to forget three losses, especially if they're justifiable by such a large age difference."
Rita seemed to contemplate his words, before reluctantly agreeing. "No matter the result, it will be a good story." She looked at him analytically. "What do you want in return?" she asked.
Harry leaned back. "Well, I know you have ambitions of being an investigative reporter one day. So I thought I'd give you a task to start with. You can publish it or not, I'm not just using you as a private detective. It could even be a great build-up article after I finish competing in the tournament."
"Out with it," Rita said with a roll of her eyes.
"You know, for the longest time, I didn't know if I wanted to find out. But it's something that's been bugging me for a while now. Do you think you can find out who raped my mother?" Harry asked
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AN: A lot of new plot points being set up as we start the next year of Hogwarts, just like with the Werewolf last time :)
Patreon if you want to read up to 23 chapters ahead, join for free, soon I will have a post asking for suggestions for POVs for an interlude chapter for this story. Patrons will then vote on the POVs to decide which one I write
Chapter 79: Dumbledore Interlude
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In the headmaster's office at Hogwarts, a meeting that would, under normal circumstances, not arouse any suspicion occurred. Dumbledore and Slughorn stood around the large table that dominated one side of the room and were talking. Fawkes, coming out of a burning phase, was weakly chirping.
However, all of the portraits in the office were empty, which was the first indicator that this chat was more special than simply the head of Slytherin informing the headmaster that one of his students had severehomesicknesss.
The grave tone of voice used by the two hinted at the fact that this wasn't a pleasant matter.
"He's really done it," Slughorn said in a defeated voice. He looked helplessly at the golden cup and the silver diadem on the table, restrained as they both were by two circles of little black stones with runes inscribed on them. Anyone with magical sense would be able to tell that there were strong barriers surrounding the objects.
"Worse than that, if the letter is to be believed, five of them," Dumbledore said very slowly before sighing and bringing up an old gnarly hand to massage his temple. It was on days like this that he truly felt old. Being the headmaster of a school was an experience that made the person younger, but dealing with old students like this?
One could only curse.
"What have you learned, Albus?"
"I have learned that these are indeed Horcruxes, just as we initially suspected. Seeing two of them together now, it is clear that the reason why the compass we created all those years ago wasn't working was because there were several of them. We can only hope that the person who wrote the letter was wrong and that the compass will stop spinning after we destroy these two," Albus concluded worriedly. He had run all sorts of tests on the Horcruxes as safely as he could, along with the device that he had created with Slughorn to track such objects.
It had never worked, and now they knew why... A compass couldn't work if there was more than one north.
"I really hope that the compass stabilizes after we destroy these. If there were only two, maybe three," the potions professor said with the tone of voice indicating that he wasn't actually very optimistic.
The headmaster sighed, and one hand went inside a wide sleeve to recover a little vial containing a clear greenish liquid.
"To think you would wait for so long simply to not have to cast the two curses that can destroy such a thing," Slughorn complained. "You know that I would have been perfectly willing to stain my soul to end the abomination I have created."
Dumbledore nodded. "I am very well aware of your willingness to make sacrifices. However, the Dark Arts are a disease of the mind that is not easy to get rid of once one has succumbed even once. It is better not to risk it, especially so early in our journey."
"Just that much must have already cost thousands of galleons."
Dumbledore shook his head. After such a long and successful career as one of the most influential wizards alive, he truly did not lack money. What he was lacking was ability. How else could one explain why he'd only ever defeated one dark lord and not two?
He uncorked the vial cautiously and brought it forward to hover over the cup first. Hufflepuff's cup, to think that they had managed to bring it back to Hogwarts after so many years only to have to destroy it. Truly, Tom had sunk so low that even the home that he had supposedly so loved had been irreparably tainted by his greed and hatred.
The cup seemed to sense its imminent demise, and a black mist that emanated all the hatred in the world surged out of it. But the protective circle held and contained the malice. What it could not contain was the drop of basilisk venom that Albus carefully rationed over the cup. Basilisk venom had strong anti-magic properties. No ward could truly contain it for long. The drop of liquid fell into the chalice and, with a scream of agony, started biting into the metal like a particularly enthusiastic termite. Soon, the screaming stopped, and the black mist dissipated, leaving behind nothing but a tragedy. A broken artifact with no magic, good or bad. To think that the cup had had the property of replicating even potions. It could have done so much good at a hospital like St Mungos, where potions were always in short supply.
He continued the task and repeated the destruction with the diadem. Another sad sight. They had considered if the artifacts could be salvaged by letting dementors eat the piece of soul inside. However, one relatively little-known fact was that while dementors ate souls, they digested them very slowly. Considering the ephemerality of the creatures, it was dangerous to essentially create a temporary Horcrux that truly could not be killed. Considering how bound together the artifact and soul became, even the killing curse would have ended up destroying the object. There was no way to salvage these particular parts of history.
The old man and the older man, after the destruction of the Horcruxes, looked to the side, to the compass that was supposed to point out such soul sprinters. The needle adjusted for a second before quickly spinning out of control again and thus pointing to nothing.
"It was more than three then," Slughorn said in a defeated voice.
"Hufflepuff's cup, Ravenclaw's diadem. The information we received has been incredibly precise so far," Dumbledore said.
"One of them was easy to find, but the other, breaking into Gringotts…" Slughorn muttered.
Albus nodded. It indeed hadn't been easy breaking into the bank. But at his age, there were still some tricks that he could rely on.
"We've confirmed the location of the Gaunt shack in Little Hangleton and that there are powerful wards with Voldemort's magical signature protecting it. But the reason we went for the cup first was that with Lestrange in prison, Tom would find it more difficult to check up on it if he so desired."
"If he so desired, he could very well go to the Room of Requirement when he inevitably attempts to break into the school next year," Slughorn said sharply.
Albus nodded. "But he won't. He still believes that neither of us knows of the room's existence, and as long as he believes this, then he will not draw attention to it. The only student who seems to know about the room is young Harry, and I doubt Tom would consider that a threat if he managed to find out somehow."
"We are making a lot of gambles based on the psychology of a madman."
The critique mostly just expressed his dissatisfaction with the difficulty of the situation. What else were they supposed to do? Just leave the diadem there? Then Tom could just hide it somewhere else if he so desired.
"We do not have a great many choices in this battle, unfortunately. The only thing we can truly hope for is that by trapping Tom, we can negate the final battle of the prophecy and make the whole thing end with a whimper rather than a scream," Albus said.
"To think that he would go so far into his attempt at becoming immortal only to be immortalized by fate," Slughhorn said. As a competent brewer of felix felicis, he was more than aware of the fundamental laws of reality, such as destiny.
Tom could only die at the hands of Neville. But that did not mean that he could not be trapped until Neville was a man and not a child.
Dumbledore closed his eyes. But the boy was a Horcrux, so what sort of life could he truly live? The letter had hinted at the fact that perhaps the killing curse from the person who'd severed the soul from the body could possibly sever the Horcrux instead of the young boy, but who was willing to bet on such things without being wholly desperate and lost?
"The ring is supposed to be in the Gaunt shack. The locket has disappeared from Grimmauld Place. Sirius said that he threw everything out years ago when he inherited it. The diary at Malfoy Manor will soon be acquired legally. The next step is clear. It is Little Hangleton which we must tackle next." Dumbledore decided.
"It would be best if we somehow managed to penetrate the wards and retrieve it without leaving behind a hint that we had entered the place. Then, even if someone checks up on it, they might not necessarily go to the effort of looking at the ring. Just verify that the wards have not been broken," Slughorn said.
Another not-so-easy task, but thankfully, rather than the one of acquiring the diary, something that could be accomplished with just magical abilities. Albus would take this trade-off.
"If we could break into Gringotts, then why not Malfoy manor? It's really stupid," Slughorn said.
"Gringotts, I have confidence breaking into without being seen. Similarly, there is a big enough motive that even if I'm noticed and reported as an anonymous robber, people will simply think that I was there for the gold. However, breaking into the manor of a dying house like that. The moment Tom hears about it, he will know that the diary is the only thing worth the risk. It is easier but more risky. We will leave it for last in case the legal means don't work, and if Voldemort is trapped by the end of the year, then we can still…" the headmaster trailed off.
"Are we sure of the plan with the stone?" Slughorn asked, obviously feeling anxious. "I know we were unable to dissuade Quirrell from going to Albania and that he is the most likely infiltration point, but what if something else happens?"
"I am, as always, open to suggestions. The issue with spirits is that they are very hard to nail down unless one can lure them into a place that one has prepared long before. Greed and overconfidence will blind Tom like they have in the past. He thinks that we are foolish to hide the stone in a school, and that will be his undoing. He has always overestimated himself and, through that, underestimated others. A trap that looks like an opportunity to the megalomaniacs of the world is the one that snaps shut the hardest," Dumbledore said coldly.
"Bloody hell," Slughorn complained and brought up a handkerchief to wipe some of the sweat staining his brow. "How far have you gotten with reactivating parts of the order?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "Not very far. People are confused at my warnings that the dark lord is not truly dead because there has yet been no conclusive evidence of that being the case. They are willing to listen to me but unwilling to put forward actions. Perhaps something will happen soon that will change their minds, but until then, I do not know."
"Well, one problem remains the same. If everything goes according to plan, we will need a new defense instructor, despite removing the curse fulcrum," the potions professor joked, trying to lift the horrible mood.
Dumbledore chuckled helplessly. "A problem that will hopefully be rectified starting next year once and for all. I did receive a fascinating offer from a previous alumni this summer and the only reason I rejected it was because I wanted to give Quirrell the opportunity."
"The plans that require patience are the worst, but thankfully, we old men are very good at waiting," Slughorn concluded. "Or else the situation would have easily spiraled out of control by now."
"I agree. Perhaps this is not as horrible as we think because now we have actual knowledge with which we can do something. Before this, we were simply stumbling in the dark. I guess in the end, we must thank our informant. No matter who they might be."
"No leads?"
"It must have been someone capable of breaking into the school and delivering the letter to the table. It couldn't have been any of the students or the staff last year, and I'm truly at a loss. It's like a completely new player has appeared and started making moves. I do not know anything, nor can I predict any of their decisions."
"This might not necessarily be a good thing, but it also might not necessarily be a bad thing," Slughorn concluded. "The person at least seems to be quite adverse to Voldemort."
"Alas, being adverse to Voldemort can also very well mean that they are a competitor rather than an enemy."
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AN: I think it's unreasonable to assume that after being given the information, Dumbledore wouldn't have managed to do anything useful. So, the war has started on at least one front. Will it truly end so easily? Who knows. The locket is missing and could be anywhere by now. As long as one Horcrux and Neville exist, the compass cannot give an accurate direction. Similarly, Harry now has the diary. What will he do with it?
It's all very mysterious. Hope you liked the chapter.
In case anyone forgot, due to Lily's death Slughorn underwent a character change and now seeks to end the dark lord he helped create rather than simply hiding away. What can I say, Dumbledore is good at guilt trips.
Similarly, they know Harry has been accessing the room since they obviously checked on it, but they don't make the connection between him and the information because of the way the letter was delivered and because a 12-year-old has no way of knowing these things. A blind spot in regards to children. I think it's reasonable. Curse me out in the comments if you disagree.
Btw, just like how this Dumbledore interlude was decided on a vote, so will the next Harry Evans interlude pov be decided next week on Patreon
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