AU Big Bang - The World Listens
Title: The World Listens
Fandom: Harry Potter
Written for: au_bigbang
Other: This time, I am prepared for it being in multiple parts.
Part I || Part II || Part III
One of the few lessons that Harry took with him after leaving Number 4, Privet Drive, was to always arrive early. Aunt Petunia constantly stressed this fact of life to anyone who would listen. Regardless of if it had been your idea to meet or not, you should always be the one to arrive early.
He reached the café with fifteen minutes to spare, and so he ordered a drink and waited. Not that he had anything better to do. It gave him time to think about just what he was going to get himself in to.
In the end, he wasn't afraid of the danger. If anything, it was a chance to escape the boredom that had become his daily life. It would give him the chance to get out of his cramped little flat (which was actually quite spacious, all things considered, but felt cramped) and to meet people. And to make friends, something that he had been denied while at Number 4, and had been unable to earn for himself while on his own.
Well, maybe friends was getting a bit too carried away. Still.
So no: He wasn't worried about running the risk of the Ministry putting him on their black list. They were already on his, for creating a society that shunned one of their own so willingly. He knew he had the potential for magic. Spells just never worked, and therefor he was cast to the outskirts of a magic using society.
If what Hermione had said was true, that by taking part in this project would make the Ministry hot under the collar, then he was more than willing to take the risk. He would get under their skin just like they had gotten under his.
*
Hermione arrived right on time, sitting down in the chair across from Harry as soon as his watch beeped to signal the hour. “I hope I haven't kept you waiting long,” she apologized, noticing the half consumed drink between his hands, which had grown cold as he drifted off into thought.
“No, of course not. I just got here,” he said without thinking.
She gave him a knowing look, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips, but shook her head and didn't comment. “Let's get down to business, then. What else would you like to know about this enterprise before we agree on it?”
“Tell me about the person and their invention. As much of it as you know.” Harry clasped his hands around the mug and settled forward in his chair.
Hermione nodded her approval to the request. “Her name is Luna Lovegood. Her father, Xenophilius Lovegood, is a rather famous inventor that makes magical appliances and tools for people that can't use magic.”
Harry hesitated, unsure if there was a polite way to phrase what he wanted to say. “Sounds a little... Eccentric.”
A smile twitched on her lips and she ducked her head for a moment. When she looked back up, the business-like expression had returned. “From what I have heard, they both are. I have not had the pleasure of meeting either Lovegood, but you can imagine what kind of characters they must be with what I have told you.”
He allowed a smile to pull at his lips as well. “I suppose as long as they work, then there's nothing to worry about.”
Hermione nodded again. “So long as they work. Of course, as I said before, that is where you will come in. Miss Lovegood and her father are a part of what is called the Phoenix Order. I'll explain more on them later, but it is through them that I received both the information on you and how she needed someone to test her invention.”
Harry spun the cup around between his hands for a few seconds before finally saying, “Are you a member? Of this Phoenix Order.”
She looked surprised, which in turn surprised him and made him wonder if he said something wrong. But then she shook her head and the surprised expression passed. “You can call me an independent contractor. I agree with a lot of their ideals, and my sympathies lie with them, but I am not a member. I would suggest, as well, that you don't become a member should the opportunity arise.”
He furrowed his brow in confusion. “Why not?”
“You have a very rare talent, Mister Potter. Although there are plenty of reasons why the Ministry should not be trusted, and the Phoenix Order gives strength to those who are ignored by the government, you should be allowed to pick where you stand.” Hermione folded her hands neatly on the table before her.
“I'm afraid I don't understand. Just what is wrong with them? I mean-” Harry paused, glancing to the side to try and figure out what he wanted to say before continuing-“If they're against the Ministry, and I want to be against the Ministry as well, then why shouldn't I side with them?”
She smacked his hand before glancing around as well. “Idiot, don't say things like that so freely.”
He drew the stinging hand back from the table and rubbed it gently. “But that doesn't answer my question.”
With a roll of her eyes, the young woman heaved a sigh and said, “You are a man with a gift that hardly any do, Harry Potter. If you allow yourself to become a tool of one organization or another, then what would that make you?” When he didn't answer, she leaned forward and punctuated the words by tapping her finger against the table top. “A pawn, Harry. You would be a pawn.”
He lowered his gaze, watching her finger tap tap tap on the table (out of annoyance or impatience, he didn't know). “Then do you suggest that by going into business together we start our own organization?”
Hermione was silent, staring up at him with a look that let him know she honestly hadn't considered that prospect.
“What?” Harry asked, a little annoyed by her lack of a response. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No, no of course not,” Hermione said and sat back in her chair. “I think you said exactly the right thing.” She shook her head and waved her hand to dismiss it. “That will be something we can decide on later. But for now, do you think you will be willing to go through with this?”
Harry looked her square in the eye and held out his hand. “I think I will like very much to take you up on this offer, Miss Granger.”
She studied his hand for a fleeting second before smiling and accepting it for a shake. “Then please, just call me Hermione.”
He laughed and returned the smile. “And keep calling me Harry.”
“Now then, I suppose we should start discussing logistics, shouldn't we?” Hermione asked, the earlier business-like attitude returning although the amicable smile remained on her face.
“I've never run a business before,” Harry confessed. He hadn't done much of anything before, he realised, the thought giving him an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Neither have I,” she agreed, and lifted a hand to her chin. She was silent for a spell as she tapped her lips in thought. “I know a few places we can look for a business office. It would need to be somewhere inconspicuous, but not too hard to find. The largest problem is funding. I have enough to get me by, but that's nowhere near enough to use to help fund this project.”
Harry shook his head and waved a hand to dismiss the concern. “My parents left me a lot of money. I'm not using it except for rent and groceries, and I've been thinking about moving to a smaller flat to top it off. If we could find something with an apartment space on top of it, I think that would be great.”
She looked shocked for an instant before nodding in understanding. “That's right. Your parents...”
He shrugged and shook his head. “Don't say you're sorry for me. I never knew them.”
Hermione looked as if she wanted to say something, but held it back and pressed on with the subject at hand. “Then... Shall we meet up again? Same time next week-and we'll both look for apartments.”
Harry nodded, jumping to his feet as Hermione stood. “We'll keep each other updated with texts and emails.”
“Just what I was going to suggest.” She held her hand out once again. “I really am glad you agreed to this, Harry. I have a feeling that it's going to end well.”
He took her hand and gave it a quick but firm squeeze. “Even if it doesn't, I think it will be good for me. A chance to escape from the stagnation that I have been living in.”
Hermione patted his hand in a reassuring manner before releasing it and slinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “I'll hear from you soon, then.”
“Ta,” he said, and remained hovering behind his chair as he watched her leave the café.
He remained standing for another while before finally shaking himself out of his thoughts and patting down his pockets to check that everything was still there. As he turned to take his own leave of the café, he caught sight of an old man staring in through the window.
At first, Harry was ready to pass it off as nothing more than that, but as he drew closer to the doors, he noticed that the man's gaze was focused on him. When their eyes met, the old man simply raised his eyebrows and turned away.
Slightly annoyed, but more than a little curious, Harry hurried out of the shop just in time to see the man turning a corner onto a side street. He followed after, breaking out into a light jog to try and catch up.
As he rounded the corner, he nearly collided with the old man.
The man, in turn, gave him a rather cryptic smile before vanishing from the spot with a loud crack! that echoed against the brick buildings.
Harry stood there, stunned. Sure, magic was a common sight no matter where you went, but he had never been so close to someone using it before. The man had just disappeared! Right in front of him!
He lifted a hand to his head, mussing his already untidy hair into an ever greater mess as he tried to think why the man looked so familiar.
*
“I feel like someone has been following me.”
“Following you?” Hermione tore her gaze away from the building in front of them and looked up at Harry. “How so?”
“Well...” He struggled for a moment. It really was nothing more than an uncomfortable tingling on the back of his neck. “I mean, how else does someone follow you? Er, it's just, it feels like someone is always watching me.” He returned her gaze until she gave a rather disinterested hum and turned away.
“I can promise you that no one asides from myself knows that you have agreed to this undertaking.” Hermione nodded, as if this satisfied everything, and started forward.
He gave a sigh and trotted after her. “How is that comforting? You mentioned the Phoenix Order the first time we met. How do they know about me?”
A not-quite reassuring smile twitched on her lips for an instant, as if she was amused by the questions. “Your father was... well, he was in a group that made him a bit of a celebrity within the magic community. In a positive light for the Phoenix Order. That is to say-” She hesitated, her hand resting on the door to the building. “The Ministry was not entirely too fond of his group's behavior.”
Hermione pushed open the door and stepped inside, letting it swing shut in Harry's surprised face.
Once he snapped back to his senses, he hurried in after her. “What do you mean-” He cut himself off as he noticed the smiling woman standing in the middle of the empty room.
“I'll tell you later, dear,” Hermione said, her entire attitude having changed in the few seconds it took for him to enter the building behind her. She gave him a smile and reached back to pull him next to her.
“You must be Jean Wilkins,” the woman said, her voice as blindingly optimistic as her smile. “And this is...?” She gave Harry an approving look, coupled with a coy smirk and eyebrow raise which left him feeling rather uncomfortable.
“This is my boyfriend, Daniel Puckle.” Hermione wrapped her arm around his and leaned against him with a charming smile.
Harry hesitated before reaching out a hand towards the woman. “Nice to meet you.”
“Rita Skeeter, Mister Puckle. But please, feel free to call me Rita.” She winked as she returned the handshake. “Now, Miss Wilkins here says the two of you really like what you saw of this place online. I'll take you on a quick walk through the place to see if it is all that you expect it to be.” She was directing her words towards Harry instead of the pair of them, but Hermione was the one taking the lead.
“That would be great, Miss Skeeter,” Hermione said, applying a bit of pressure to Harry's arm and pulling him along after her.
They were moving out of the front sitting room to the office in the back when Harry suddenly stopped and looked over his shoulder.
Just look at you.
“What is it, Dan?” Hermione asked. Despite her light tone, her face was a mask of concern.
“Feeling alright there, Mister Puckle?” Skeeter turned and lifted an eyebrow again, though it was less suggestive this time.
“Fine. Just... fine. I thought I heard something is all.” Still looking over his shoulder, trying to see something past the large wall of windows that made up the front of the office, he reached down and grasped Hermione's hand.
So much like James. Oh Merlin, you could be him back from the dead.
Hermione stepped closer. “Can you hear something?” When he nodded, she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “C'mon...” she said softly so only he could hear. “We'll talk after this.”
Harry nodded again and, hand in hand with Hermione, followed Rita Skeeter into the next room.
The blonde woman held the door open long enough for them to pass through, the honey-sweet smile plastered on her face once again. “Glad you're doing alright there, Mister Puckle. Now. This here is the main hall way. Not much of a hall all things considered but this is it.”
She indicated to the wall on her left with an overly dramatic flourish of her hand. For the first time, Harry noticed that she had two large rings decorated with gaudy stones - one emerald and one diamond. He also noticed how neither of them where on her ring finger. “Through here is how you get to the kitchen and the smaller office, which can be used as a conference room. And through here-” Skeeter waved her hand to the right wall- “are the two bathrooms, and utility closet as you can see.” She took a step back to let Harry and Hermione peer through the open door that led to a dark hall.
Skeeter leaned over and put one hand on each of their shoulders, startling the two of them as they turned to find her smiling. “Behind us is the main office. The master bedroom is directly over that room. Now, where would you like to start first...?”
*
The apartment was smaller than the flat that he currently lived in, but he liked it so much more.
“I thought we would never get rid of that woman,” Hermione said, exasperated. She ran a hand back through her hair and slumped against the door.
“I thought I would have to kiss her hand or something the way she kept waving it in my face,” Harry said, and they both laughed. He held up his hand and shook the keys in a victorious manner. “Still.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, though she was still grinning. “You really don't need to keep that hideous green bug key chain she gave you, you know.”
He pulled the beetle away from the cluster of keys and studied it. Engraved onto its flat back was Rita Skeeter, Real Estate Agent's contact information. “It's my first house warming gift. I can't throw it away like that.” More like it was one of his first gifts ever, as tacky as it was, and so he couldn't help but feel a bit attached to it.
She rolled her eyes again. “Alright, alright.”
“Can I ask a question?” Harry ventured after several seconds of silence.
“Yes, of course.”
“Earlier. With Miss Skeeter.” He looked down when Hermione focused her attention in his direction. “What was with those names?”
A guilty and somewhat pained look flickered across her face before she turned away. “Jean Wilkins-” she started, then her voice faltered.
Harry stepped closer, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”
She looked up at him, something unreadable in her gaze. “Have you heard of the Forgotten Children, Harry?”
He paused, trying to think of the books he had read, then shook his head.
Hermione gave a soft laugh. “No, I wouldn't have thought so. Anyways. I thought it would be better for both of us to use false names. You, especially. Once we get this under way, it will be best for you to go by Daniel Puckle to the public.” Her attitude had returned to its usual business-like crispness, her posture straightening and the shadows from just before completely erased from her face.
“All of the accounts? Personal paperwork and things like that? What about them?” He withdrew a few steps to give her room. “They're all still under Harry Potter.”
She gave him a knowing smile and wagged a finger in his face. “You forget, Harry. I'm a witch. And quite a clever one, if I say so myself. An easy fix.” She laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder and giving him a reassuring grin. “Let's get out of here. You want to catch a bite?” Hermione stepped away from the front door and pulled it open, revealing a dusky, late-summer sky.
Harry followed after her onto the narrow landing and locked the door behind him. “Maybe another time. I am trying to eat all the food in my fridge and pack so I can move out as quickly as possible.”
Lifting an eyebrow that was uncannily like Rita Skeeter, Hermione offered a shrug and headed on down the stairs that wrapped around to the side of the building. “Want to get out as fast as you can?”
His only response was a non-committal shrug of his own, running his fingers over the keys in his pocket. “It's not that I hate the flat that I'm in now. I'm just eager to move to the next stage.”
She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turning around to look up at him. “It's a new phase for both of us. Here's to it.” Hermione held out her hand.
Harry leaned down to shake the offered hand, but he was halted again by the voice from earlier.
Harry James Potter. I've finally found you, so please don't disappear just yet.
He froze, hand inches away from Hermione's, eyes going wide.
“Harry?” she asked, and that prompted him back into movement.
He hurried down the last of the stairs, grabbing onto her hand and positioning himself between her and the two men that had just come from around corner of the main street. As soon as he did this, he realised it was a little pointless. If anything, she would be able to defend herself better than he could seeing as she was the one with magic. But the voice was aimed at him, and so he wanted to shield her from getting involved.
One of the men was tall and taunt, his face thin and dark circles under his eyes. His clothes were rather shabby, and his jumper was out of place in the warm evening. He seemed to be supporting the second, slightly smaller man, who had a mess of dark hair and a high nose that he probably had used to look down on people with. Now it just made him look like a fallen aristocrat in commoner's clothing.
“Please, don't run,” the taller one said. “I - We just want to talk.”
“How do you know my name?” Harry snapped in return. He clenched one of his hands into and out of a fist. “How do you know my father?”
The dark haired man's shoulders were shaking with laughter, though not a sound was coming from him. To Harry's uneasy surprise, however, he could hear the raspy, hollow voice in his head. The voice that had called out to him.
How? he repeated, eyes trained on Harry's. They were an unsettling and icy blue-grey and he found that he couldn't look away. We knew him, that's how.
The first man looked between his companion and at the pair across the street, a slight expression of confusion on his face.
Hermione twisted her hand around to grasp at Harry's. He could feel her nervous breath against the back of his neck, and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
“Harry, we have to get out of here,” she murmured, leaning in close so that he could hear her whisper. “I've read about these two.”
“Who are they?” he asked, twisting around to look at her but she shook her head.
“Harry, please. We won't hurt you.” The taller one took a step forward, his expression sharpening as if he realised what the two were talking about. “We knew James. We knew your father.”
“Think of your flat, and of nothing else,” Hermione ordered.
He nodded dumbly, forcing away the thoughts of his missing parents and these two strangers that claimed to know them, and tried to concentrate on his living room.
“Disapparate,” she breathed, and the taller man lunged across the space between them, shouting “No!” as he tried to grab onto something - anything - that would stop them.
With a violent jerk, Harry felt his stomach go one way and his chest go the other, while every other little bit of him seemed unsure of which part to follow.
By the time he was able to register what had happened, he landed in the middle of his sitting room with a jarring thud and stumbled a pace as his knees buckled from the force. “What-” he started, whipping around to look behind him.
Hermione stood there, running her shaking hands back through her hair before covering her mouth with them.
“Hermione, who were they?” Harry demanded.
She shook her head, unable to speak. What looked like tears were beginning to form in her eyes.
He stepped up, taking both her hands in his and helping her down onto the couch. Standing in front of her, he kept her hands in his and squeezed them gently until she looked up at him. “Who were they?”
“Oh Harry. I never would have thought-I never told anyone that I was meeting with you. No one should have known where to find us, especially not at the new office.” Her tone of voice was desperate, begging for his forgiveness, though for what he didn't know.
“Hermione,” he said sternly.
Her breath caught in her throat and she bit her lower lip until she was able to regain control of her voice. “They were responsible for the death of your parents.”
The words hit him like a ton of bricks, nearly knocking the wind out of him as he dropped onto the couch beside her. “How...?” he started, but his voice failed him.
She twisted their hands around so she was grasping his instead. “From what I know, they were all friends when they went to school. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. That's their names.” Hermione swallowed and took a steadying breath. “Your parents and another friend of theirs, Peter Pettigrew, were in a battle against the Death Eaters alongside Black. Pettigrew managed to escape, but your parents weren't so lucky.”
Harry was staring wide-eyed at the floor, his head spinning at the news. “He betrayed them?”
She nodded, a small sound escaping the back of her throat.
“And Lupin?”
“Pettigrew went to go warn him, but little did he know that Lupin was a traitor as well.” Her voice was so soft but Harry didn't need to strain to hear her: There were no other sounds in the flat. “Lupin associated with one of the Death Eaters' top men, Fenrir Greyback. A lot of people didn't want to think the worst of Lupin, especially because he was such good friends with James and Lily, but...”
“So Pettigrew, as well...?”
She nodded again, finally looking up at him.
For a long time, he returned the gaze while his brain tried to process the information. Ever since he could remember, the Dursleys had drilled into his head the fact that his parents were dead, that they had gotten into some business over their head and wound up on the short end of it. In order to try and think the best of them, and not knowing the truth in any slightest portion, the young Harry had told himself that they merely died in an accident. No one was at fault, and there would have been no way to prevent it.
He was quite certain that Uncle Vernon had no clue how the Potters had died. The magical world was something he preferred to not speak of and thought that it was a dirty thing not allowed in to the house. Dudley did everything his father did, and didn't think twice. But Aunt Petunia. Aunt Petunia knows, Harry realised with a sudden shock. Every time she repeated that phrase that stupid sister of mine, she was reliving the moment when she heard the news. The edge on the words was directed back to herself to try and deal with the guilt.
It was painful to know the truth, and he found that couldn't hate Aunt Petunia for anything she had said regarding the matter. The entire magical world and one normal person knew full weight of the truth of the death of the Potters, but he had been left in the dark. He, who didn't fit into either society, didn't even know how his own parents had been killed until those responsible had come to find him twenty years later.
“Harry...?” Hermione finally ventured, her voice steadier now that she had been given a moment to compose herself. She reached out and touched his hand gently before pulling away and standing up. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to find out like this. I should have phrased it better.”
He looked up at her as she moved across the room towards the door. “There was no better way to put it,” he admitted, voice soft. “Thank you, though, for telling me.” Harry scrubbed at his face with both hands, heaving a heavy sigh into his palms and leaning back against his couch. “It was about time I found out. It's kind of silly that one of the people most effected by it didn't know, huh?”
She gave him an almost pitying look, but then closed her eyes and let her chin drop to her chest. “Stay safe, Harry. If they were able to find us at the new office, then they'll be able to find you here.” Hermione had started to open the door to leave.
“Are you afraid they'll do something to me?” Harry asked, the thought suddenly occurring to him.
Hermione hesitated, then closed the door and stepped back into the room. “It's just a hunch - my own personal hunch, and I don't know if there is anyone else that shares this. But, like I said, Remus Lupin is connected with General Greyback. And Sirius Black... well, he was supposed to be dead.”
He rose to his feet, a strange mix of feelings rising up in him. “What do you mean?”
She wrung her hands together before her for a second before answering. “The Ministry has created these things called Dementors.”
“Yes, I've read about them. That they're the Ministry's machines for manufacturing loyal servants out of spirits,” Harry cut in.
She nodded. “Well, of course the Ministry couldn't go right out and say they supported this attack on two civilians, and so they tried Sirius Black as a scapegoat.” Again, she hesitated. “He was given the Kiss, Harry. By the Dementors.” At his surprised face, Hermione hurried to explain. “Of course, something went wrong. People say that Lupin helped him escape. In the end, the process was only half finished, but his voice is gone.”
“I could hear it...” he said, a bit mystified. “Like one of the dead, but at the same time... I knew that it wasn't the voice of a spirit.”
“Any spirit drawn out after being given the Kiss becomes loyal to the Minister of Magic,” Hemione stressed. “There's a chance that the two of them have been sent by the Ministry to lure you out.” She held his gaze, waiting until she saw the understanding in his eyes. “Stay safe, Harry.” With a brief, reassuring smile, she turned around and left the flat.
Harry remained standing in the middle of the living room, taking one deep breath after the other. For the first time, he wanted to call Aunt Petunia and just say I know now. I'm sorry. He wondered if her other familiar mantra you can't do magic, just accept it was her own way of reassuring him - of comforting him in the fact that he can have a chance to live a normal life because he would not be able to get on the wrong side of anything or get into something over his head.
Sorry, he wanted to say again. I'm going to follow in my parent's footsteps. If she could be proud of Lily, proud enough to feel so guilty at her death, then maybe she could be proud of him too. Except that he wasn't going to die. He was going to live and he was going to prove to everyone what happened when they tried to cover up the truth.
*
“Harry, I have a question.”
“I'm fine, Hermione, if that's what you were going to ask. Haven't left my flat since then.”
“Well, that's good to hear, but that's not what I was calling about.”
“Didn't think so. Thought I would put your mind at rest anyways.”
“Thank you. Did you do what I told you to regarding the accounts?”
“Oh right. Those. Yeah I set them up a few nights ago. They should be working by now.”
“I went by the office today and took some measurements. I think I'm going to order some furniture tomorrow. It's not a good idea to let it set empty for too long.”
“How did you get in? I have the only pair of keys.”
“Harry, I told you. I'm a clever witch.”
“Oh. Right. We might want to look in to getting locks that can't just be broken with a simple spell then.”
“I was waiting for you to say that. Took you a bit longer than I was hoping, though.”
“So you're going to order couches and desks or something?”
“Yes, as well as getting supplies for the break room and things like that. Basically, I want it to look like a fully-functioning office by the time you finish moving in up stairs. Don't worry, I'll take care of it all. You just worry on moving to the new flat.”
“Are you sure you don't want my help?”
“I know how I want it to all go, so I'll work better on my own. You know you can trust me on this, Harry.”
“Of course, Hermione. I wouldn't want you to think otherwise.”
“Good. When are you going to be in the office next?”
“ Tomorrow or the day after. I want to start bringing some boxes over. I was going to rent a truck. The bigger stuff I'll leave for the movers.”
“Alright, call me when you get there, and I'll come over. We can go over some of the ideas that I have.”
“I thought you said that you didn't want my help.”
“I'll accept your opinion as such but doesn't mean that I'll take it.”
“I'll see you then, Hermione.”
“See you.”
*
Two days later, Harry met with Hermione as they had arranged. She caught him just as he was stacking several boxes to carry up the stairs.
“Let me help you with that,” she said, suddenly appearing at his shoulder. “Wingardium leviosa.” With a wave of her hands, as if she was conducting an orchestra of boxes, Hermione sent them up out of the back of the van and up the stairs one by one. “You might want to go open the door for them. They'll drop once they're out of my sight.”
Harry hurried up the stairs, ducking around the floating boxes as they bobbed about in mid air. He opened the door to his flat, plucking the first box from the queue and setting it down safely inside.
After the boxes were all unloaded, he followed Hermione down into the office. For the next hour, they pondered over a layout for the front office and finally settled on the items to be ordered.
Hermione left shortly after, with the promise that things were almost finished, and once everything was delivered, she'd begin casting protection spells over the office and flat.
Those words both reassured and worried Harry. On one hand, he knew it meant that no one would be able to find them. On the other, it meant that there were things a lot more dangerous on the outside than he was originally aware of.
Up in his flat, Harry started to unpack several of the boxes. At least it was unpacking in that he opened up one box, threw the crumpled newspaper around the room, and then moved on to the next. It made the space seem less empty.
The ever-present whispers of the dead still echoed in his ears, even in the new flat. He wondered if the spells that Hermione was going to cast would keep them away as well. Though he had to admit that if the voices were ever to be silenced, he would feel so much emptier. They had been with him when no one else was. Just like the tacky beetle key chain from Rita Skeeter, there was something sentimental about the presence of the dead.
“So soon I'm going to be able to actually speak to you,” Harry said aloud as he began to unwrap a set of plates onto the kitchen counter. He wondered if they knew, though he wasn't able to ask. Nor did they let on that they knew, as they were the usual chorus of voices clamoring to be heard amongst all the others. “Maybe I'll be able to demand a bit of quiet. Just kidding. I've learned to live with you. I'll just demand a bit of order and ask you to speak to me in turns.”
Just as he was starting to consider what the voices would say when they could actually hold a conversation with him, he heard something clack against his door.
Everything went silent, even the voices (which was never a good sign), and Harry felt a chill race down his spice.
The clack came again. With it, came the voices - finally agreeing on something and crying it at the same time:
A Death Eater!
Harry's hand immediately wrapped around the handle of a frying pan and he stepped over half-empty boxes and through wads of newspaper as he crossed the room to his front door. At a third clack, he took a deep breath and yanked it open.
Three little pebbles were waiting for him on the small porch.
“Oh, James! Er-no, Harry!” a voice squeaked, and Harry squinted into the darkness of the building on the other side of the alley.
“Show yourself!” Harry called, his voice hoarse and his hand shaking despite himself.
The shadow squeaked again and jumped. “All I wanted. I just wanted to see that you were safe! It was the last thing I could have done for your da'. I've heard word that you would be around here.”
His stomach dropped down to join the pebbles at his feet, and it was all he could do to keep himself from launching over the top railing and smacking the shadowed man with his pan. “You...” he growled, and immediately took off down the stairs.
“W-wait!” The man gasped and scrambled out of the way as Harry bounded off the last step. “No, I knew James! I was friends with him at school-” He cut himself off with a tremendous gulp as the frying pan was held threateningly under his nose.
“Oh? Friends with him like Black and Lupin?” Harry took a step closer, feeling suddenly emboldened by his anger. Finally he would get a chance to shake off what had been hanging over him since Hermione told him the truth.
The man's eyes furrowed in confusion, then suddenly opened up so wide that Harry thought they would fall out (in fact, he hoped they would). “You saw Remus and Sirius?! They're still alive?”
With another growl, Harry swung the frying pan at the man's head, though he ducked out of the way and scrambled back another few paces. “Wouldn't you know? They're on your side, Death Eater.”
His face fell in disappointment. “So that's what Riddle is letting everyone believe...?” he murmured, sadness tinging his voice. “Listen, for James' sake, please trust Sirius and Remus!” The man fidgeted in a rather rodent-like fashion, eyes darting to the side as if he had heard something. “If you can trust anyone, trust those two!”
“Why should I-?” Harry started to demand, then changed his mind. “Who are you?”
The man twitched and jumped. Then he gave a grin, showing his small and rather sharp (and somewhat discolored) teeth before wriggling his fingers in a mockery of a parting wave. “Just think of me as another one of the dead voices you can hear, Harry. Disapparate!”
With a loud pop, the strange man disappeared before Harry could grab a hold of him.
It took a few seconds before his limbs started to tremble again. He felt his knees wobble and give, and he was barely able to catch himself against the brick wall of the building before he could fall to the ground. Trust Black and Lupin? But they were the ones that had killed his parents - killed and betrayed them! There was no way he could be expected to trust them after he knew that.
Unless, of course, everything was yet again another lie.
That's what Riddle is letting everyone believe.
The words echoed in his head, suddenly flipping everything around. Was it possible that what everyone knew was simply a fabricated story in order to serve someone's plot?
Riddle. As in Tom Riddle, then? The Minister of Magic. What did he gain by killing the Potters, and framing two innocents?
He gained support by catching some criminals, the real ones or not did not matter, and he discredited those whom the criminals supposedly sided with. Harry made a mental note to look up who was running against Tom Riddle back when he was up for election in the Ministry before asking Hermione about it.
He knew that he needed to figure out just who were his enemies before it became too late.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Written for: au_bigbang
Other: This time, I am prepared for it being in multiple parts.
Part I || Part II || Part III
One of the few lessons that Harry took with him after leaving Number 4, Privet Drive, was to always arrive early. Aunt Petunia constantly stressed this fact of life to anyone who would listen. Regardless of if it had been your idea to meet or not, you should always be the one to arrive early.
He reached the café with fifteen minutes to spare, and so he ordered a drink and waited. Not that he had anything better to do. It gave him time to think about just what he was going to get himself in to.
In the end, he wasn't afraid of the danger. If anything, it was a chance to escape the boredom that had become his daily life. It would give him the chance to get out of his cramped little flat (which was actually quite spacious, all things considered, but felt cramped) and to meet people. And to make friends, something that he had been denied while at Number 4, and had been unable to earn for himself while on his own.
Well, maybe friends was getting a bit too carried away. Still.
So no: He wasn't worried about running the risk of the Ministry putting him on their black list. They were already on his, for creating a society that shunned one of their own so willingly. He knew he had the potential for magic. Spells just never worked, and therefor he was cast to the outskirts of a magic using society.
If what Hermione had said was true, that by taking part in this project would make the Ministry hot under the collar, then he was more than willing to take the risk. He would get under their skin just like they had gotten under his.
*
Hermione arrived right on time, sitting down in the chair across from Harry as soon as his watch beeped to signal the hour. “I hope I haven't kept you waiting long,” she apologized, noticing the half consumed drink between his hands, which had grown cold as he drifted off into thought.
“No, of course not. I just got here,” he said without thinking.
She gave him a knowing look, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips, but shook her head and didn't comment. “Let's get down to business, then. What else would you like to know about this enterprise before we agree on it?”
“Tell me about the person and their invention. As much of it as you know.” Harry clasped his hands around the mug and settled forward in his chair.
Hermione nodded her approval to the request. “Her name is Luna Lovegood. Her father, Xenophilius Lovegood, is a rather famous inventor that makes magical appliances and tools for people that can't use magic.”
Harry hesitated, unsure if there was a polite way to phrase what he wanted to say. “Sounds a little... Eccentric.”
A smile twitched on her lips and she ducked her head for a moment. When she looked back up, the business-like expression had returned. “From what I have heard, they both are. I have not had the pleasure of meeting either Lovegood, but you can imagine what kind of characters they must be with what I have told you.”
He allowed a smile to pull at his lips as well. “I suppose as long as they work, then there's nothing to worry about.”
Hermione nodded again. “So long as they work. Of course, as I said before, that is where you will come in. Miss Lovegood and her father are a part of what is called the Phoenix Order. I'll explain more on them later, but it is through them that I received both the information on you and how she needed someone to test her invention.”
Harry spun the cup around between his hands for a few seconds before finally saying, “Are you a member? Of this Phoenix Order.”
She looked surprised, which in turn surprised him and made him wonder if he said something wrong. But then she shook her head and the surprised expression passed. “You can call me an independent contractor. I agree with a lot of their ideals, and my sympathies lie with them, but I am not a member. I would suggest, as well, that you don't become a member should the opportunity arise.”
He furrowed his brow in confusion. “Why not?”
“You have a very rare talent, Mister Potter. Although there are plenty of reasons why the Ministry should not be trusted, and the Phoenix Order gives strength to those who are ignored by the government, you should be allowed to pick where you stand.” Hermione folded her hands neatly on the table before her.
“I'm afraid I don't understand. Just what is wrong with them? I mean-” Harry paused, glancing to the side to try and figure out what he wanted to say before continuing-“If they're against the Ministry, and I want to be against the Ministry as well, then why shouldn't I side with them?”
She smacked his hand before glancing around as well. “Idiot, don't say things like that so freely.”
He drew the stinging hand back from the table and rubbed it gently. “But that doesn't answer my question.”
With a roll of her eyes, the young woman heaved a sigh and said, “You are a man with a gift that hardly any do, Harry Potter. If you allow yourself to become a tool of one organization or another, then what would that make you?” When he didn't answer, she leaned forward and punctuated the words by tapping her finger against the table top. “A pawn, Harry. You would be a pawn.”
He lowered his gaze, watching her finger tap tap tap on the table (out of annoyance or impatience, he didn't know). “Then do you suggest that by going into business together we start our own organization?”
Hermione was silent, staring up at him with a look that let him know she honestly hadn't considered that prospect.
“What?” Harry asked, a little annoyed by her lack of a response. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No, no of course not,” Hermione said and sat back in her chair. “I think you said exactly the right thing.” She shook her head and waved her hand to dismiss it. “That will be something we can decide on later. But for now, do you think you will be willing to go through with this?”
Harry looked her square in the eye and held out his hand. “I think I will like very much to take you up on this offer, Miss Granger.”
She studied his hand for a fleeting second before smiling and accepting it for a shake. “Then please, just call me Hermione.”
He laughed and returned the smile. “And keep calling me Harry.”
“Now then, I suppose we should start discussing logistics, shouldn't we?” Hermione asked, the earlier business-like attitude returning although the amicable smile remained on her face.
“I've never run a business before,” Harry confessed. He hadn't done much of anything before, he realised, the thought giving him an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Neither have I,” she agreed, and lifted a hand to her chin. She was silent for a spell as she tapped her lips in thought. “I know a few places we can look for a business office. It would need to be somewhere inconspicuous, but not too hard to find. The largest problem is funding. I have enough to get me by, but that's nowhere near enough to use to help fund this project.”
Harry shook his head and waved a hand to dismiss the concern. “My parents left me a lot of money. I'm not using it except for rent and groceries, and I've been thinking about moving to a smaller flat to top it off. If we could find something with an apartment space on top of it, I think that would be great.”
She looked shocked for an instant before nodding in understanding. “That's right. Your parents...”
He shrugged and shook his head. “Don't say you're sorry for me. I never knew them.”
Hermione looked as if she wanted to say something, but held it back and pressed on with the subject at hand. “Then... Shall we meet up again? Same time next week-and we'll both look for apartments.”
Harry nodded, jumping to his feet as Hermione stood. “We'll keep each other updated with texts and emails.”
“Just what I was going to suggest.” She held her hand out once again. “I really am glad you agreed to this, Harry. I have a feeling that it's going to end well.”
He took her hand and gave it a quick but firm squeeze. “Even if it doesn't, I think it will be good for me. A chance to escape from the stagnation that I have been living in.”
Hermione patted his hand in a reassuring manner before releasing it and slinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “I'll hear from you soon, then.”
“Ta,” he said, and remained hovering behind his chair as he watched her leave the café.
He remained standing for another while before finally shaking himself out of his thoughts and patting down his pockets to check that everything was still there. As he turned to take his own leave of the café, he caught sight of an old man staring in through the window.
At first, Harry was ready to pass it off as nothing more than that, but as he drew closer to the doors, he noticed that the man's gaze was focused on him. When their eyes met, the old man simply raised his eyebrows and turned away.
Slightly annoyed, but more than a little curious, Harry hurried out of the shop just in time to see the man turning a corner onto a side street. He followed after, breaking out into a light jog to try and catch up.
As he rounded the corner, he nearly collided with the old man.
The man, in turn, gave him a rather cryptic smile before vanishing from the spot with a loud crack! that echoed against the brick buildings.
Harry stood there, stunned. Sure, magic was a common sight no matter where you went, but he had never been so close to someone using it before. The man had just disappeared! Right in front of him!
He lifted a hand to his head, mussing his already untidy hair into an ever greater mess as he tried to think why the man looked so familiar.
*
“I feel like someone has been following me.”
“Following you?” Hermione tore her gaze away from the building in front of them and looked up at Harry. “How so?”
“Well...” He struggled for a moment. It really was nothing more than an uncomfortable tingling on the back of his neck. “I mean, how else does someone follow you? Er, it's just, it feels like someone is always watching me.” He returned her gaze until she gave a rather disinterested hum and turned away.
“I can promise you that no one asides from myself knows that you have agreed to this undertaking.” Hermione nodded, as if this satisfied everything, and started forward.
He gave a sigh and trotted after her. “How is that comforting? You mentioned the Phoenix Order the first time we met. How do they know about me?”
A not-quite reassuring smile twitched on her lips for an instant, as if she was amused by the questions. “Your father was... well, he was in a group that made him a bit of a celebrity within the magic community. In a positive light for the Phoenix Order. That is to say-” She hesitated, her hand resting on the door to the building. “The Ministry was not entirely too fond of his group's behavior.”
Hermione pushed open the door and stepped inside, letting it swing shut in Harry's surprised face.
Once he snapped back to his senses, he hurried in after her. “What do you mean-” He cut himself off as he noticed the smiling woman standing in the middle of the empty room.
“I'll tell you later, dear,” Hermione said, her entire attitude having changed in the few seconds it took for him to enter the building behind her. She gave him a smile and reached back to pull him next to her.
“You must be Jean Wilkins,” the woman said, her voice as blindingly optimistic as her smile. “And this is...?” She gave Harry an approving look, coupled with a coy smirk and eyebrow raise which left him feeling rather uncomfortable.
“This is my boyfriend, Daniel Puckle.” Hermione wrapped her arm around his and leaned against him with a charming smile.
Harry hesitated before reaching out a hand towards the woman. “Nice to meet you.”
“Rita Skeeter, Mister Puckle. But please, feel free to call me Rita.” She winked as she returned the handshake. “Now, Miss Wilkins here says the two of you really like what you saw of this place online. I'll take you on a quick walk through the place to see if it is all that you expect it to be.” She was directing her words towards Harry instead of the pair of them, but Hermione was the one taking the lead.
“That would be great, Miss Skeeter,” Hermione said, applying a bit of pressure to Harry's arm and pulling him along after her.
They were moving out of the front sitting room to the office in the back when Harry suddenly stopped and looked over his shoulder.
Just look at you.
“What is it, Dan?” Hermione asked. Despite her light tone, her face was a mask of concern.
“Feeling alright there, Mister Puckle?” Skeeter turned and lifted an eyebrow again, though it was less suggestive this time.
“Fine. Just... fine. I thought I heard something is all.” Still looking over his shoulder, trying to see something past the large wall of windows that made up the front of the office, he reached down and grasped Hermione's hand.
So much like James. Oh Merlin, you could be him back from the dead.
Hermione stepped closer. “Can you hear something?” When he nodded, she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “C'mon...” she said softly so only he could hear. “We'll talk after this.”
Harry nodded again and, hand in hand with Hermione, followed Rita Skeeter into the next room.
The blonde woman held the door open long enough for them to pass through, the honey-sweet smile plastered on her face once again. “Glad you're doing alright there, Mister Puckle. Now. This here is the main hall way. Not much of a hall all things considered but this is it.”
She indicated to the wall on her left with an overly dramatic flourish of her hand. For the first time, Harry noticed that she had two large rings decorated with gaudy stones - one emerald and one diamond. He also noticed how neither of them where on her ring finger. “Through here is how you get to the kitchen and the smaller office, which can be used as a conference room. And through here-” Skeeter waved her hand to the right wall- “are the two bathrooms, and utility closet as you can see.” She took a step back to let Harry and Hermione peer through the open door that led to a dark hall.
Skeeter leaned over and put one hand on each of their shoulders, startling the two of them as they turned to find her smiling. “Behind us is the main office. The master bedroom is directly over that room. Now, where would you like to start first...?”
*
The apartment was smaller than the flat that he currently lived in, but he liked it so much more.
“I thought we would never get rid of that woman,” Hermione said, exasperated. She ran a hand back through her hair and slumped against the door.
“I thought I would have to kiss her hand or something the way she kept waving it in my face,” Harry said, and they both laughed. He held up his hand and shook the keys in a victorious manner. “Still.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, though she was still grinning. “You really don't need to keep that hideous green bug key chain she gave you, you know.”
He pulled the beetle away from the cluster of keys and studied it. Engraved onto its flat back was Rita Skeeter, Real Estate Agent's contact information. “It's my first house warming gift. I can't throw it away like that.” More like it was one of his first gifts ever, as tacky as it was, and so he couldn't help but feel a bit attached to it.
She rolled her eyes again. “Alright, alright.”
“Can I ask a question?” Harry ventured after several seconds of silence.
“Yes, of course.”
“Earlier. With Miss Skeeter.” He looked down when Hermione focused her attention in his direction. “What was with those names?”
A guilty and somewhat pained look flickered across her face before she turned away. “Jean Wilkins-” she started, then her voice faltered.
Harry stepped closer, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”
She looked up at him, something unreadable in her gaze. “Have you heard of the Forgotten Children, Harry?”
He paused, trying to think of the books he had read, then shook his head.
Hermione gave a soft laugh. “No, I wouldn't have thought so. Anyways. I thought it would be better for both of us to use false names. You, especially. Once we get this under way, it will be best for you to go by Daniel Puckle to the public.” Her attitude had returned to its usual business-like crispness, her posture straightening and the shadows from just before completely erased from her face.
“All of the accounts? Personal paperwork and things like that? What about them?” He withdrew a few steps to give her room. “They're all still under Harry Potter.”
She gave him a knowing smile and wagged a finger in his face. “You forget, Harry. I'm a witch. And quite a clever one, if I say so myself. An easy fix.” She laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder and giving him a reassuring grin. “Let's get out of here. You want to catch a bite?” Hermione stepped away from the front door and pulled it open, revealing a dusky, late-summer sky.
Harry followed after her onto the narrow landing and locked the door behind him. “Maybe another time. I am trying to eat all the food in my fridge and pack so I can move out as quickly as possible.”
Lifting an eyebrow that was uncannily like Rita Skeeter, Hermione offered a shrug and headed on down the stairs that wrapped around to the side of the building. “Want to get out as fast as you can?”
His only response was a non-committal shrug of his own, running his fingers over the keys in his pocket. “It's not that I hate the flat that I'm in now. I'm just eager to move to the next stage.”
She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turning around to look up at him. “It's a new phase for both of us. Here's to it.” Hermione held out her hand.
Harry leaned down to shake the offered hand, but he was halted again by the voice from earlier.
Harry James Potter. I've finally found you, so please don't disappear just yet.
He froze, hand inches away from Hermione's, eyes going wide.
“Harry?” she asked, and that prompted him back into movement.
He hurried down the last of the stairs, grabbing onto her hand and positioning himself between her and the two men that had just come from around corner of the main street. As soon as he did this, he realised it was a little pointless. If anything, she would be able to defend herself better than he could seeing as she was the one with magic. But the voice was aimed at him, and so he wanted to shield her from getting involved.
One of the men was tall and taunt, his face thin and dark circles under his eyes. His clothes were rather shabby, and his jumper was out of place in the warm evening. He seemed to be supporting the second, slightly smaller man, who had a mess of dark hair and a high nose that he probably had used to look down on people with. Now it just made him look like a fallen aristocrat in commoner's clothing.
“Please, don't run,” the taller one said. “I - We just want to talk.”
“How do you know my name?” Harry snapped in return. He clenched one of his hands into and out of a fist. “How do you know my father?”
The dark haired man's shoulders were shaking with laughter, though not a sound was coming from him. To Harry's uneasy surprise, however, he could hear the raspy, hollow voice in his head. The voice that had called out to him.
How? he repeated, eyes trained on Harry's. They were an unsettling and icy blue-grey and he found that he couldn't look away. We knew him, that's how.
The first man looked between his companion and at the pair across the street, a slight expression of confusion on his face.
Hermione twisted her hand around to grasp at Harry's. He could feel her nervous breath against the back of his neck, and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
“Harry, we have to get out of here,” she murmured, leaning in close so that he could hear her whisper. “I've read about these two.”
“Who are they?” he asked, twisting around to look at her but she shook her head.
“Harry, please. We won't hurt you.” The taller one took a step forward, his expression sharpening as if he realised what the two were talking about. “We knew James. We knew your father.”
“Think of your flat, and of nothing else,” Hermione ordered.
He nodded dumbly, forcing away the thoughts of his missing parents and these two strangers that claimed to know them, and tried to concentrate on his living room.
“Disapparate,” she breathed, and the taller man lunged across the space between them, shouting “No!” as he tried to grab onto something - anything - that would stop them.
With a violent jerk, Harry felt his stomach go one way and his chest go the other, while every other little bit of him seemed unsure of which part to follow.
By the time he was able to register what had happened, he landed in the middle of his sitting room with a jarring thud and stumbled a pace as his knees buckled from the force. “What-” he started, whipping around to look behind him.
Hermione stood there, running her shaking hands back through her hair before covering her mouth with them.
“Hermione, who were they?” Harry demanded.
She shook her head, unable to speak. What looked like tears were beginning to form in her eyes.
He stepped up, taking both her hands in his and helping her down onto the couch. Standing in front of her, he kept her hands in his and squeezed them gently until she looked up at him. “Who were they?”
“Oh Harry. I never would have thought-I never told anyone that I was meeting with you. No one should have known where to find us, especially not at the new office.” Her tone of voice was desperate, begging for his forgiveness, though for what he didn't know.
“Hermione,” he said sternly.
Her breath caught in her throat and she bit her lower lip until she was able to regain control of her voice. “They were responsible for the death of your parents.”
The words hit him like a ton of bricks, nearly knocking the wind out of him as he dropped onto the couch beside her. “How...?” he started, but his voice failed him.
She twisted their hands around so she was grasping his instead. “From what I know, they were all friends when they went to school. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. That's their names.” Hermione swallowed and took a steadying breath. “Your parents and another friend of theirs, Peter Pettigrew, were in a battle against the Death Eaters alongside Black. Pettigrew managed to escape, but your parents weren't so lucky.”
Harry was staring wide-eyed at the floor, his head spinning at the news. “He betrayed them?”
She nodded, a small sound escaping the back of her throat.
“And Lupin?”
“Pettigrew went to go warn him, but little did he know that Lupin was a traitor as well.” Her voice was so soft but Harry didn't need to strain to hear her: There were no other sounds in the flat. “Lupin associated with one of the Death Eaters' top men, Fenrir Greyback. A lot of people didn't want to think the worst of Lupin, especially because he was such good friends with James and Lily, but...”
“So Pettigrew, as well...?”
She nodded again, finally looking up at him.
For a long time, he returned the gaze while his brain tried to process the information. Ever since he could remember, the Dursleys had drilled into his head the fact that his parents were dead, that they had gotten into some business over their head and wound up on the short end of it. In order to try and think the best of them, and not knowing the truth in any slightest portion, the young Harry had told himself that they merely died in an accident. No one was at fault, and there would have been no way to prevent it.
He was quite certain that Uncle Vernon had no clue how the Potters had died. The magical world was something he preferred to not speak of and thought that it was a dirty thing not allowed in to the house. Dudley did everything his father did, and didn't think twice. But Aunt Petunia. Aunt Petunia knows, Harry realised with a sudden shock. Every time she repeated that phrase that stupid sister of mine, she was reliving the moment when she heard the news. The edge on the words was directed back to herself to try and deal with the guilt.
It was painful to know the truth, and he found that couldn't hate Aunt Petunia for anything she had said regarding the matter. The entire magical world and one normal person knew full weight of the truth of the death of the Potters, but he had been left in the dark. He, who didn't fit into either society, didn't even know how his own parents had been killed until those responsible had come to find him twenty years later.
“Harry...?” Hermione finally ventured, her voice steadier now that she had been given a moment to compose herself. She reached out and touched his hand gently before pulling away and standing up. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to find out like this. I should have phrased it better.”
He looked up at her as she moved across the room towards the door. “There was no better way to put it,” he admitted, voice soft. “Thank you, though, for telling me.” Harry scrubbed at his face with both hands, heaving a heavy sigh into his palms and leaning back against his couch. “It was about time I found out. It's kind of silly that one of the people most effected by it didn't know, huh?”
She gave him an almost pitying look, but then closed her eyes and let her chin drop to her chest. “Stay safe, Harry. If they were able to find us at the new office, then they'll be able to find you here.” Hermione had started to open the door to leave.
“Are you afraid they'll do something to me?” Harry asked, the thought suddenly occurring to him.
Hermione hesitated, then closed the door and stepped back into the room. “It's just a hunch - my own personal hunch, and I don't know if there is anyone else that shares this. But, like I said, Remus Lupin is connected with General Greyback. And Sirius Black... well, he was supposed to be dead.”
He rose to his feet, a strange mix of feelings rising up in him. “What do you mean?”
She wrung her hands together before her for a second before answering. “The Ministry has created these things called Dementors.”
“Yes, I've read about them. That they're the Ministry's machines for manufacturing loyal servants out of spirits,” Harry cut in.
She nodded. “Well, of course the Ministry couldn't go right out and say they supported this attack on two civilians, and so they tried Sirius Black as a scapegoat.” Again, she hesitated. “He was given the Kiss, Harry. By the Dementors.” At his surprised face, Hermione hurried to explain. “Of course, something went wrong. People say that Lupin helped him escape. In the end, the process was only half finished, but his voice is gone.”
“I could hear it...” he said, a bit mystified. “Like one of the dead, but at the same time... I knew that it wasn't the voice of a spirit.”
“Any spirit drawn out after being given the Kiss becomes loyal to the Minister of Magic,” Hemione stressed. “There's a chance that the two of them have been sent by the Ministry to lure you out.” She held his gaze, waiting until she saw the understanding in his eyes. “Stay safe, Harry.” With a brief, reassuring smile, she turned around and left the flat.
Harry remained standing in the middle of the living room, taking one deep breath after the other. For the first time, he wanted to call Aunt Petunia and just say I know now. I'm sorry. He wondered if her other familiar mantra you can't do magic, just accept it was her own way of reassuring him - of comforting him in the fact that he can have a chance to live a normal life because he would not be able to get on the wrong side of anything or get into something over his head.
Sorry, he wanted to say again. I'm going to follow in my parent's footsteps. If she could be proud of Lily, proud enough to feel so guilty at her death, then maybe she could be proud of him too. Except that he wasn't going to die. He was going to live and he was going to prove to everyone what happened when they tried to cover up the truth.
*
“Harry, I have a question.”
“I'm fine, Hermione, if that's what you were going to ask. Haven't left my flat since then.”
“Well, that's good to hear, but that's not what I was calling about.”
“Didn't think so. Thought I would put your mind at rest anyways.”
“Thank you. Did you do what I told you to regarding the accounts?”
“Oh right. Those. Yeah I set them up a few nights ago. They should be working by now.”
“I went by the office today and took some measurements. I think I'm going to order some furniture tomorrow. It's not a good idea to let it set empty for too long.”
“How did you get in? I have the only pair of keys.”
“Harry, I told you. I'm a clever witch.”
“Oh. Right. We might want to look in to getting locks that can't just be broken with a simple spell then.”
“I was waiting for you to say that. Took you a bit longer than I was hoping, though.”
“So you're going to order couches and desks or something?”
“Yes, as well as getting supplies for the break room and things like that. Basically, I want it to look like a fully-functioning office by the time you finish moving in up stairs. Don't worry, I'll take care of it all. You just worry on moving to the new flat.”
“Are you sure you don't want my help?”
“I know how I want it to all go, so I'll work better on my own. You know you can trust me on this, Harry.”
“Of course, Hermione. I wouldn't want you to think otherwise.”
“Good. When are you going to be in the office next?”
“ Tomorrow or the day after. I want to start bringing some boxes over. I was going to rent a truck. The bigger stuff I'll leave for the movers.”
“Alright, call me when you get there, and I'll come over. We can go over some of the ideas that I have.”
“I thought you said that you didn't want my help.”
“I'll accept your opinion as such but doesn't mean that I'll take it.”
“I'll see you then, Hermione.”
“See you.”
*
Two days later, Harry met with Hermione as they had arranged. She caught him just as he was stacking several boxes to carry up the stairs.
“Let me help you with that,” she said, suddenly appearing at his shoulder. “Wingardium leviosa.” With a wave of her hands, as if she was conducting an orchestra of boxes, Hermione sent them up out of the back of the van and up the stairs one by one. “You might want to go open the door for them. They'll drop once they're out of my sight.”
Harry hurried up the stairs, ducking around the floating boxes as they bobbed about in mid air. He opened the door to his flat, plucking the first box from the queue and setting it down safely inside.
After the boxes were all unloaded, he followed Hermione down into the office. For the next hour, they pondered over a layout for the front office and finally settled on the items to be ordered.
Hermione left shortly after, with the promise that things were almost finished, and once everything was delivered, she'd begin casting protection spells over the office and flat.
Those words both reassured and worried Harry. On one hand, he knew it meant that no one would be able to find them. On the other, it meant that there were things a lot more dangerous on the outside than he was originally aware of.
Up in his flat, Harry started to unpack several of the boxes. At least it was unpacking in that he opened up one box, threw the crumpled newspaper around the room, and then moved on to the next. It made the space seem less empty.
The ever-present whispers of the dead still echoed in his ears, even in the new flat. He wondered if the spells that Hermione was going to cast would keep them away as well. Though he had to admit that if the voices were ever to be silenced, he would feel so much emptier. They had been with him when no one else was. Just like the tacky beetle key chain from Rita Skeeter, there was something sentimental about the presence of the dead.
“So soon I'm going to be able to actually speak to you,” Harry said aloud as he began to unwrap a set of plates onto the kitchen counter. He wondered if they knew, though he wasn't able to ask. Nor did they let on that they knew, as they were the usual chorus of voices clamoring to be heard amongst all the others. “Maybe I'll be able to demand a bit of quiet. Just kidding. I've learned to live with you. I'll just demand a bit of order and ask you to speak to me in turns.”
Just as he was starting to consider what the voices would say when they could actually hold a conversation with him, he heard something clack against his door.
Everything went silent, even the voices (which was never a good sign), and Harry felt a chill race down his spice.
The clack came again. With it, came the voices - finally agreeing on something and crying it at the same time:
A Death Eater!
Harry's hand immediately wrapped around the handle of a frying pan and he stepped over half-empty boxes and through wads of newspaper as he crossed the room to his front door. At a third clack, he took a deep breath and yanked it open.
Three little pebbles were waiting for him on the small porch.
“Oh, James! Er-no, Harry!” a voice squeaked, and Harry squinted into the darkness of the building on the other side of the alley.
“Show yourself!” Harry called, his voice hoarse and his hand shaking despite himself.
The shadow squeaked again and jumped. “All I wanted. I just wanted to see that you were safe! It was the last thing I could have done for your da'. I've heard word that you would be around here.”
His stomach dropped down to join the pebbles at his feet, and it was all he could do to keep himself from launching over the top railing and smacking the shadowed man with his pan. “You...” he growled, and immediately took off down the stairs.
“W-wait!” The man gasped and scrambled out of the way as Harry bounded off the last step. “No, I knew James! I was friends with him at school-” He cut himself off with a tremendous gulp as the frying pan was held threateningly under his nose.
“Oh? Friends with him like Black and Lupin?” Harry took a step closer, feeling suddenly emboldened by his anger. Finally he would get a chance to shake off what had been hanging over him since Hermione told him the truth.
The man's eyes furrowed in confusion, then suddenly opened up so wide that Harry thought they would fall out (in fact, he hoped they would). “You saw Remus and Sirius?! They're still alive?”
With another growl, Harry swung the frying pan at the man's head, though he ducked out of the way and scrambled back another few paces. “Wouldn't you know? They're on your side, Death Eater.”
His face fell in disappointment. “So that's what Riddle is letting everyone believe...?” he murmured, sadness tinging his voice. “Listen, for James' sake, please trust Sirius and Remus!” The man fidgeted in a rather rodent-like fashion, eyes darting to the side as if he had heard something. “If you can trust anyone, trust those two!”
“Why should I-?” Harry started to demand, then changed his mind. “Who are you?”
The man twitched and jumped. Then he gave a grin, showing his small and rather sharp (and somewhat discolored) teeth before wriggling his fingers in a mockery of a parting wave. “Just think of me as another one of the dead voices you can hear, Harry. Disapparate!”
With a loud pop, the strange man disappeared before Harry could grab a hold of him.
It took a few seconds before his limbs started to tremble again. He felt his knees wobble and give, and he was barely able to catch himself against the brick wall of the building before he could fall to the ground. Trust Black and Lupin? But they were the ones that had killed his parents - killed and betrayed them! There was no way he could be expected to trust them after he knew that.
Unless, of course, everything was yet again another lie.
That's what Riddle is letting everyone believe.
The words echoed in his head, suddenly flipping everything around. Was it possible that what everyone knew was simply a fabricated story in order to serve someone's plot?
Riddle. As in Tom Riddle, then? The Minister of Magic. What did he gain by killing the Potters, and framing two innocents?
He gained support by catching some criminals, the real ones or not did not matter, and he discredited those whom the criminals supposedly sided with. Harry made a mental note to look up who was running against Tom Riddle back when he was up for election in the Ministry before asking Hermione about it.
He knew that he needed to figure out just who were his enemies before it became too late.