AU Big Bang - The World Listens
Title: The World Listens
Fandom: Harry Potter
Written for: au_bigbang
Other: Thanks for reading! Hopefully I'll have more in the near future for you all!
Part I || Part II || Part III
Another week and a half passed before Harry felt like he was ready to tell Hermione about the night he had met the Death Eater. The two of them had kept themselves so busy with packing and unpacking and setting up the office that he had never found the right moment to bring it up.
Though he had to admit it was also entirely possible that there had been plenty of right moments to ask her, but he was just putting it off. He had been given an explanation that was remotely satisfying (as satisfying something could feel when you found out about how your parents died). Did he really want to question it because of what some strange Death Eater had told him?
But the man had reacted with genuine surprise when he heard about Black and Lupin. The question was if that meant anything.
Hermione had called him to the office even though he had decided to spend one more night in his flat to finish cleaning before he left. Still, he figured that it would be the best chance to ask her about his doubts.
When he rounded the corner and the office came into view, he could see Hermione standing out in front of it. But when he was about to call out to her, he noticed that someone else was there as well. She was speaking with a tall man who stood with somewhat hunched shoulders. His skin was sallow despite the warm sun, and his lanky black hair hung around his face in dirty tangles.
Hermione spotted Harry first, turning to face him with a concerned expression on her face. “Harry!” she called, trying to smile and wave.
The man looked up to face him as well, and Harry noticed that his nose was more like a hooked beak than an actual nose. “I should be going then, Miss Granger,” he said as Harry drew close. His voice was a bored drawl, as if he had better things to do than to stand around in front of this building in particular. “I trust you'll keep in touch?”
“Of course, Professor,” she said, the weak smile faltering and she nodded her head. “Thank you again.”
He sniffed in a disdainful manner and spun around. His long black coat billowed around his ankles in an overly dramatic fashion and he stalked off down the street.
Harry waited until he had disappeared from sight before turning to Hermione. “Who was that?”
She shrugged, trying to pass it off as indifference. “My professor from when I was attending school.”
He furrowed his brow as he unlocked the door to the office and held it open for her. “Do professors normally come back to meet with their students?” He had not attended a magical school, so he didn't know if the protocol was different.
Hermione looked down, biting her lip and letting a guilty expression flicker across her face. “Do you remember, a few weeks back, when I asked you if you had heard of the Forgotten Children?”
He nodded, still waiting with the door held open. His own questions were forgotten for the moment.
“The Forgotten Children are those that are born with magical abilities to parents who have none,” she explained, finally stepping into the office so he could close the door. “Or, in some cases, if one of the parents has magic, but chooses instead to live a normal life.”
Harry followed in after her, sitting down on one of the plush chairs in the waiting room as he waited for her to continue.
When she realised that he wasn't going to say anything, she dropped into the chair next to him and sat with her hands folded in her lap. “My parents were both normal. Dentists, actually. I think they had some inkling for a while that I would be a witch.” Hermione looked down at her hands, worrying at a hangnail for a moment. “At the end of the month, after I turned eleven, I went to the Ministry with the rest of the children who became of age at the same time for testing. Sure enough, I was able to perform magic - quite easily in fact.”
She laughed, running a hand back through her hair before twisting the curly strands around her fingers. “My name used to be Jean Wilkins.” Her voice was soft, tinged with a hint of sadness though her expression was placid. “After my test was over, they took me into another room and told me that I would no longer be Jean, and that my parents would no longer remember who I was. I was given a new name - Hermione Granger - and I was sent to school.”
Harry opened his mouth to say something, then clamped it shut when he couldn't think of the right words. Once he collected his thoughts, he asked, “They took you just like that?”
“It was too be expected, of course,” Hermione told him in a matter of fact tone. “Your mother was a Forgotten Child as well. Except that she didn't accept it as well as the others...”
“She kept in touch with Aunt Petunia,” he said, realisation dawning. “Aunt Petunia was always saying that her sister sent her letters...”
Hermione nodded and swallowed. “Professor Snape, the man I was talking to, told me about your mother once or twice. They went to school together.” She took a deep breath and Harry could hear it quiver faintly.
“Just who are the Forgotten Children?” Harry asked, leaning in close as if to keep anyone else from hearing.
She tilted her head to the side in thought. “They're dangerous, Harry. I won't pretend that I didn't partake in my share of their activities, but I'm done with that now. Just like your mother, I'm not content to wait by while I live a life that no one is supposed to remember.” She clenched her hands into fists and looked up at him, her gaze filled with determination. “We are going to be remembered, Harry: You and I. I'll make sure of that.”
He could feel his chest swell with her words, and he reached out and grabbed her hand tightly. “I won't let you down.”
Hermione gave a brilliant smile that let him know he had said the right thing.
“So, then, have you called me out here for a reason?” Harry asked, letting a small smile tug at his lips.
She returned the expression, a bit more of a playful tilt to her mouth. “I was thinking we could celebrate by ordering in. We open officially tomorrow, but it'd be nice to spend one more peaceful evening here, right?”
Surprised, he was about to open his mouth to respond when a rapid knock shook the glass door. He twisted around in his chair to find a pimply delivery boy holding up a bag to keep food containers warm.
“And you can't say no because I've already ordered the food.” The reason behind Hermione's impish grin clear, she jumped to her feet and pulled open the door. “Thank you very much, Stan.” She doled out the notes, adding on a few extra as a tip, and took the food containers that the boy was holding out for her.
He accepted the notes, tipping his hat in salute to Harry and Hermione before tucking the empty bag under his arm and retreating down the sidewalk.
She closed the door with a gentle nudge of her foot and gave Harry a victorious grin. “Go upstairs and grab two wine glasses. We'll eat down here.”
Harry couldn't stop the grin, shaking his head because he knew that he could not argue with her.
They were halfway done with dinner, sitting cross-legged on either side of one of the low coffee tables that decorated the office and enjoying a some-what Italian meal when the front door to the office swung open.
Conversation died in their throats, and Harry twisted around to see what was going on.
The tall old man from several weeks ago, the one that had been staring at him at the café, was standing just inside the threshold. He gazed placidly at the two before him over the rim of his half-moon spectacles.
“You again?” Harry asked, adjusting his own glasses in a somewhat self-conscious movement.
Hermione gasped, and he looked over to see her covering her mouth with both hands. Her eyes were wide with surprise and a hint of confusion.
“Good evening, Mister Potter. Miss Granger. I hope I have not interrupted what must have certainly been a very lovely evening.” The old man had his hands folded before him, calm despite the fact that he had just entered into the office uninvited.
Harry opened his mouth, about to tell the man to please leave, but Hermione managed to speak first.
“You're... Dumbledore, aren't you? Albus Dumbledore.” Her voice was soft with awe.
Harry felt his stomach drop to the floor before it jumped up into his throat and blocked his words. This man was Dumbledore?
As if sensing Harry's thoughts, the old man fixed him with an honestly delighted smile and inclined his head slightly to acknowledge Hermione's words with a nod. “Indeed, I am, though I don't believe that is of much consequence these days.”
“Not much consequence?!” Hermione squeaked, her hands jumping to cover her mouth in embarrassment. “With all due respect, Sir, you were the people's favorite to win the campaign for Minister of Magic.”
Harry scrambled to his feet, unconsciously dusting off his pants and trying to make himself look more presentable. “Please, Sir. I need to know.”
“About Lily and James,” Dumbledore said as if he had known all along. When Harry nodded, he placed a hand on the young man's shoulder and gently pushed him back down to his spot by the table. “All in good time, Mister Potter. I would first-” He paused for a moment, letting out a stiff grunt as he used Harry's shoulder to lower himself into a sitting position between the two. “I would first like to offer my congratulations on starting up this business of yours.”
Hermione's eyes were wide as saucers, and she seemed quite beyond speech.
But Harry was not as shocked into silence. “Mister Dumbledore-”
“Professor, if you would, Harry. I never quite left teaching behind me, I'm afraid.” He smiled in an amused fashion as he reached out to pick up one of the bread sticks from the middle of the table.
“Professor Dumbledore, then,” Harry said, feeling a little annoyed that he was being brushed off. “I was told that Remus Lupin and Sirius Black are responsible for the death of my parents.”
Dumbledore didn't make any movement or sound by way of agreement or disagreement.
He pressed on despite the lack of response. “But I was visited a week ago. By a Death Eater-”
“Oh Harry!” Hermione cried, finally finding her voice. “Why didn't you tell me?”
But Harry ignored her outburst. “He said that I should trust Lupin and Black. That what everyone believes about the truth behind my parents' death... is a lie.”
“Very few people know the truth, Harry,” Dumbledore said, his tone serious.
“But I thought-” Hermione started. “What everyone has been told...”
“Miss Granger, there is a difference between the truth and a conclusion drawn from facts.” He unclasped his hands and then locked them behind his back. “The truth is the correct conclusion drawn from facts.”
“Yes, I understand that,” she said, bristling slightly at being treated as ignorant. “What what I don't understand is how we are supposed to know which conclusion to trust.”
“Then let us look at the facts.” Again, Dumbledore unfolded his hands and held them out before him. “James and Lily Potter are dead.”
Harry couldn't help but give a heavy swallow as he watched the old man close one finger in on his palm.
“Sirius is supposed to be dead, but I have it in good faith that the two of you have seen him.” Dumbledore pulled in another finger as Harry and Hermione nodded.
“Peter Pettigrew killed your parents, Harry, that I cannot deny. But what I will contest is that he is that he is guilty of being a traitor.” Dumbledore pulled down a third finger.
Hermione held up her hand, waiting until the man looked at her before she spoke. “But I thought that Pettigrew was killed by Lupin.”
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “That would be an incorrect conclusion drawn from the facts that the two of them have been missing and that Remus knows Fenrir Greyback. Harry, do you mind telling us again about your meeting with this Death Eater last week?”
“Well, he called me 'James' at first,” Harry said slowly. “And he said he wanted to check on me for my dad's sake. And to trust Lupin and Black.” He furrowed his brow in confusion. “Hold on... that was Pettigrew?”
“So you see a problem has arisen in the facts and the conclusion we are given. Yet another man that was supposed to be dead is not, and he even says to trust the one who supposedly killed him.” The old man reached for another bread stick.
“But if Pettigrew killed my parents, why should we trust him or those he tells me to trust?” Harry was starting to feel very frustrated with this man's cryptic speech. “Not to mention, he's a Death Eater.”
“There's one thing you must know about Peter: He is not a strong man.” Harry started to interrupt, but Dumbledore silenced him with a wave of his hand. “He gave in to a power that is far greater than him, and he regrets it terribly. So strictly speaking, he was not the one to fire the curse that killed your parents, but he was the one to lead Tom to them.”
“Tom?” Hermione blurted out. “As in Tom Riddle - the Minister of Magic?”
Dumbledore had an amused smile on his face, though it was barely visible past his beard. “Miss Granger, I was under the impression that you were not entirely fond of our Minister. At least, this is what Professor Snape has informed me.”
She adverted her gaze, hands moving to toy nervously with the fork on her abandoned plate. “It's one thing to believe something as fact and another to find it to be true.
“Indeed. So you understand what it is that I am trying to say?”
Hermione took a moment to think, then nodded. “I do. And I won't change my beliefs.”
“I still don't quite understand,” Harry cut in, raising his hand much like Hermione had done before - but without waiting for acknowledgment. “And I think that, out of all of us here, I should be the one to know. It is my parents and their friends that are in question here.”
Dumbledore held up his hand in a placating manner. “As you know, for I am sure Miss Granger here has undoubtedly told you, Sirius was with your parents when they died. Because of his family ties, he was supposed to get the harsher punishment for his betrayal to the Minister.”
“A kiss from the Dementors,” Harry supplied, though he didn't quite understand the 'family ties' thing.
“Exactly. Peter realised, belatedly, that his own betrayal to his friends was going to cost them their lives. So to attempt an amend, he managed to keep Remus away from the fight.”
“But Peter didn't know that the others believed Remus was a traitor,” Hermione cut in. Her face was a mask of concentration as she tried to put the pieces together before the solution was revealed.
“Correct again,” Dumbledore said. “He and Remus devised a plan to break Sirius out of prison. It went awry, as plans often do, and Sirius' voice was stolen. Remus and Sirius were able to escape once again, but Peter 'disappeared'.” He lifted his hands to pantomime quotes around the last word.
“So, really, none of them are evil and the Ministry has been lying to you all this whole time,” Harry said flatly.
Hermione frowned, though if it was because of his crude phrasing or that he answered before her, he couldn't tell. “What now, then? Professor Snape said that you'd be returning, but I didn't think it would be so soon. Has something happened with the Order?”
Dumbledore leaned back, spreading his hands to indicate the office. “This has happened.”
“We're not even open yet,” Hermione replied indignantly. “We can't even say this is going to be a success.”
The old man smiled, slightly amused by the accusation that was obvious in her tone. “I hope I'm not setting my expectations too high when I say that I think you will be fine. Professor Snape tells me that you are very determined to see this work, Miss Granger, so please don't sell yourself short.”
She looked down at her lap, face flushed with embarrassment. “Yes, Professor,” she muttered.
Dumbledore dabbed at his lips with one of the paper napkins and rose to his feet. “Now, then, I do believe that I should take my leave. The two of you have a big day ahead of you. I wish you the best of luck, Harry. Your parents were wonderful wizards, so it would be no surprise if you are as well.”
“Sir-Professor, just a second,” Harry started, jumping to his feet.
He paused, arching one eyebrow and inclining his head slightly in answer.
“I'm doing this for myself.”
Dumbledore's eyebrows lifted even higher. “I know you are, Harry.”
“No, I mean...” Harry looked down at his feet before clenching his hands into fists and charging on. “Not for the Phoenix Order, or for the Ministry. I'm going into this business for purely selfish reasons.”
Dumbledore smiled, the expression briefly visible before his mouth returned to an even line. “I don't doubt that, my boy. Wizards who are motivated to action by purely selfish reasons often become very mighty. Just be sure that you allow your friends to keep you on the right track.”
With a cryptic wink, and before Harry could say anything else, Dumbledore disappeared with a loud crack.
Harry swore, aiming a kick at the empty space in frustration. “I don't understand him!” he shouted, rounding on Hermione.
“I don't think anyone does,” she admitted, voice calm despite the mixed expressions on her face. “Listen, Harry, just sit down and let's finish eating. He was right - we do have a big day tomorrow.” Hermione reached for her wine glass, but her hand faltered and fell back to her lap before she could grasp the stem.
“Hermione...?”
She looked up at him, clearly angry. “When were you going to tell me that a Death Eater came to visit you?”
He rubbed the back of his head. “I wanted to, I just didn't know how to bring it up... And I wanted to get some information of my own first before telling you...”
She sighed and reached for her glass again. “Next time, tell me as soon as it happens, all right? We're in this together, so anything that happens to you is now officially my business.” Despite her serious tone, there was a faint smile on her lips. “Hope you don't think you're in over your head. Too late to back out now.”
Harry hesitated, thinking back to what Aunt Petunia had said about Lily. In over her head. On the wrong side. He returned to his spot at the table and held out his wine glass towards her. “Wouldn't dream of it.”
The grin spread across her face and she tapped her glass against his. “Cheers.”
Unlike other grand openings, there were no balloons or cutting of tape. Hermione simply unlocked the doors, double-checked her spells, and took her pace at the reception desk. Harry loitered in the front lobby for a long while before being shooed back into his office. Then he simply loitered behind his desk and marveled at the entire concept.
He had a business.
Of course, what exactly their business did was uncertain - even to him - and they hadn't even settled on a name. But the fact remained that there was one, and it was his (or it was Daniel Puckle's, more technically).
Around noon, Hermione left to get lunch, and she told Harry to at least try to look productive in case anyone came by. When he asked why would someone come by, and if they did what should he say, she merely shrugged and told him to improvise.
He decided to try and come up with a name for the company. Chances were it would end up vetoed by Hermione, but at least he would look busy.
Spells, he had realised when he would go to the library and read, were predominately in Latin or Latin-based. So the name would be, too. It would let others know that they were a magic-based company... at least, in theory.
Half an hour later, with several failed attempts at a name struck out on the blotter before him, the sound of bells echoed through the otherwise silent office.
Harry's pen paused, but he quickly resumed scribbling down a list of words. “How does Mens et Manus sound as a name?” he called without looking up.
There was a moment of silence, then, “Absolute rubbish, since you're asking, though I would have to figure you didn't mean to ask me.”
That wasn't Hermione's voice. His head jerked up, glasses slipping down his nose with the motion.
A slight young woman with a rather tangled mess of pale blonde hair stood in the doorway to his office. Her eyes were wide in what seemed to be a permanent state of surprised curiosity, and she held a strange contraption in her hands that could easily have been a medieval torture device if it wasn't for what might have been a carrot on the brow of the thing. “I take it Miss Granger isn't in the girl's room, then?”
“Who are you?” Harry asked, half-rising from his chair. He didn't know if he should be on edge or not.
“Luna,” she said as if that explained everything. When his expression said that it didn't, she clarified with, “Lovegood. I do believe Miss Granger told you about me” She held up the carrot-encrusted torture device.
“Oh... Oh! Yes, Hermione did mention you.” He hesitated, then rounded the desk to stand in front of her. “Did you have an appointment for today?” He actually had no idea if it would make a difference, but it sounded like the right thing to say in the situation.
She tilted her head to the side. “Should I have made one?”
He hesitated again, looking back at his blotter with the scribbled names. “Er, I actually don't know. I suppose not. From what Hermione said, it sounds like that we'll be working together quite frequently, so I guess in that case, making meetings would be kind of pointless.”
Luna smiled and held out her hand. “Pleasure.” As she shook his hand, she asked, “Would it be okay to call you Harry? Since we'll be working together quite frequently.”
“Oh, er, yes, yes of course that's fine!” Harry adjusted his glasses nervously, then flattened his hair over his forehead when he noticed that she had been staring at his scar for practically the entire conversation. “Please, sit. Is that the device that Hermione was telling me about?”
Luna took the offered seat and placed the device on the desk beside him. “It's my own design. Theoretically, it should harmonize with the spirits and enable the wearer's voice to match that rhythm.” She pulled the chair closer and fiddled with a knob on the side of the crown. “My theory is that the dead speak on a different wavelength, and those with your ability are attuned to it.”
“So... the scar is sort of like an antenna to receive their signal?”
She considered this for a moment, then laughed at the idea and nodded. “Yes, I think that's a good way of putting it. Now, in your case...” Luna reached up and tapped his forehead. “Your antenna is broken, so it can't receive the full signal. This will help you tune in correctly.”
“A carrot?”
“A dirigible plum, actually.”
“A what plum?”
Luna tossed her hair back over her shoulder, and he noticed a flash of orange hanging from her ears. Her earrings were a similar shape to the carrot thing, though it still didn't explain just what they were. “It's used to enhance your ability to accept the abnormal. In this case, talking to the dead.”
“Hermione made it sound like you would try to get it to work for other people as well - not just ones like me.”
“Yes, that would be an ultimate goal,” she confessed, patting the crown fondly. “It would work differently, of course, because they aren't naturally attuned to receive transmissions from spirits.”
“Transmissions,” Harry said with a chuckle. “Now I really do feel like a radio.”
Luna gave him what was probably meant to be a reassuring smile, but it made him feel a little uneasy. “Would you like to start?”
“Now?”
She shrugged. “I don't see why not. I mean, I am here, after all.”
Harry gave the crown a long look before he relented with a sigh. “Should I call Hermione and ask her to pick up something for you to eat as well?”
Luna waved her hand to dismiss the idea. “I've already eaten. Here, sit down and I'll get started.”
Quite unsure just what would happen with the device, Harry returned to his desk chair and sat down as instructed.
She followed behind him, crown in hand, and waited until he was comfortable before placing it ceremoniously on his head. “Oh, it fits. I'm glad. I used my father's head to size it - I thought, better too big than too small!”
“Are you saying I have a large head?” Harry glanced up at her, but only got a faceful of blonde hair as she leaned across him to adjust a knob on the far side.
Luna only laughed, and he decided that he rather liked the way she laughed. She seemed to find almost everything amusing. Which was quite refreshing from how serious he had been feeling lately.
“This isn't going to hurt, is it?” This time Harry sat still as he asked the question. Her hair was already tickling his nose and it made him want to sneeze.
She pulled back to look down at him. “I should think not terribly. There might be a shock, but it runs on magic.”
For a moment, he started to panic. “I can't do magic.”
Luna waggled a finger in his face and smiled. “Of course you can.”
“But I failed when I went to the Ministry for my examination.”
“Just because you couldn't do a spell then doesn't mean you can't do it.” She paused for a moment to drag one of the chairs on the other side of the desk back around so she could perch on the end of it - much like a small owl, her eyes wide and unblinking. “Now, let's begin.” Luna started to reach into her purse, but Harry caught onto her wrist to stop her.
“What do you mean I can do magic?”
She tilted her head to the side. “Well, it's only a theory.”
He leaned back in his chair - though he immediately jumped back up again when the crown knocked against the back of it. “I'd love to hear it.” If there was a chance that he could do magic, then he'd finally be able to find a place to fit in to.
“Anyone killed by a Death Eater - we sort of have come to believe that they are like Riddle's private army,” she clarified, seeing his momentary look of confusion, “has their voice trapped. It's become common belief amongst the Phoenix Order that those voices that the Chosen Ones can hear belong to the victims of the Death Eaters.”
Harry held up his hands, silently repeating her words back to him to try and figure out what it was that she was saying. “First off... Chosen One?” He snorted.
She shrugged again. “That was a name they settled on. That seems to be a general term that comes to be associated with people that have special abilities that are hunted down, wouldn't you agree?”
Frankly, he had no idea just what think so he gave her a shrug in return. This seemed to satisfy her, so she went on.
“With a name like 'Death Eater', you can guess that whatever it is they do to their victims, it is not pleasant.” If Luna noticed Harry's hands grip the arms of his chair, she didn't show it. “Now, my theory is - and several of the Order share it with me - that because your parents died protecting you, their spirits refused to stop protecting you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“If you were to enter the magical community, your scar and abilities would become known by the Minister,” Luna said matter-of-factly. Her wide eyes peered up at him with a sudden curiosity. “You never figured?” When he shook his head, she made small noise and went on like it was the most obvious reasoning. “Your parents were both excellent wizards, so it stands to reason that you could have been one as well. If you were to show off your talent, the Minister would take an interest in you and if he found out who you were...-” She made a squelching sound and pantomimed cutting her neck.
“Still,” she said, cheerful as ever, “if your magic was to be sealed, then you could be hidden away.”
“So my parents' spirits are... blocking my magic?” He wasn't entirely too sure how to deal with the information. “How come I can't hear them like the others, then? If they're spirits, I should be able to hear them-!”
Luna shook her head and sat back, though she didn't look all too concerned with his problem. “I would imagine it's because they're not trapped the way the others are. They are a part of you, not the ether where souls normally linger.” Satisfied with her explanation, Luna clapped her hands together and said, “Let's get started, shall we?”
Fandom: Harry Potter
Written for: au_bigbang
Other: Thanks for reading! Hopefully I'll have more in the near future for you all!
Part I || Part II || Part III
Another week and a half passed before Harry felt like he was ready to tell Hermione about the night he had met the Death Eater. The two of them had kept themselves so busy with packing and unpacking and setting up the office that he had never found the right moment to bring it up.
Though he had to admit it was also entirely possible that there had been plenty of right moments to ask her, but he was just putting it off. He had been given an explanation that was remotely satisfying (as satisfying something could feel when you found out about how your parents died). Did he really want to question it because of what some strange Death Eater had told him?
But the man had reacted with genuine surprise when he heard about Black and Lupin. The question was if that meant anything.
Hermione had called him to the office even though he had decided to spend one more night in his flat to finish cleaning before he left. Still, he figured that it would be the best chance to ask her about his doubts.
When he rounded the corner and the office came into view, he could see Hermione standing out in front of it. But when he was about to call out to her, he noticed that someone else was there as well. She was speaking with a tall man who stood with somewhat hunched shoulders. His skin was sallow despite the warm sun, and his lanky black hair hung around his face in dirty tangles.
Hermione spotted Harry first, turning to face him with a concerned expression on her face. “Harry!” she called, trying to smile and wave.
The man looked up to face him as well, and Harry noticed that his nose was more like a hooked beak than an actual nose. “I should be going then, Miss Granger,” he said as Harry drew close. His voice was a bored drawl, as if he had better things to do than to stand around in front of this building in particular. “I trust you'll keep in touch?”
“Of course, Professor,” she said, the weak smile faltering and she nodded her head. “Thank you again.”
He sniffed in a disdainful manner and spun around. His long black coat billowed around his ankles in an overly dramatic fashion and he stalked off down the street.
Harry waited until he had disappeared from sight before turning to Hermione. “Who was that?”
She shrugged, trying to pass it off as indifference. “My professor from when I was attending school.”
He furrowed his brow as he unlocked the door to the office and held it open for her. “Do professors normally come back to meet with their students?” He had not attended a magical school, so he didn't know if the protocol was different.
Hermione looked down, biting her lip and letting a guilty expression flicker across her face. “Do you remember, a few weeks back, when I asked you if you had heard of the Forgotten Children?”
He nodded, still waiting with the door held open. His own questions were forgotten for the moment.
“The Forgotten Children are those that are born with magical abilities to parents who have none,” she explained, finally stepping into the office so he could close the door. “Or, in some cases, if one of the parents has magic, but chooses instead to live a normal life.”
Harry followed in after her, sitting down on one of the plush chairs in the waiting room as he waited for her to continue.
When she realised that he wasn't going to say anything, she dropped into the chair next to him and sat with her hands folded in her lap. “My parents were both normal. Dentists, actually. I think they had some inkling for a while that I would be a witch.” Hermione looked down at her hands, worrying at a hangnail for a moment. “At the end of the month, after I turned eleven, I went to the Ministry with the rest of the children who became of age at the same time for testing. Sure enough, I was able to perform magic - quite easily in fact.”
She laughed, running a hand back through her hair before twisting the curly strands around her fingers. “My name used to be Jean Wilkins.” Her voice was soft, tinged with a hint of sadness though her expression was placid. “After my test was over, they took me into another room and told me that I would no longer be Jean, and that my parents would no longer remember who I was. I was given a new name - Hermione Granger - and I was sent to school.”
Harry opened his mouth to say something, then clamped it shut when he couldn't think of the right words. Once he collected his thoughts, he asked, “They took you just like that?”
“It was too be expected, of course,” Hermione told him in a matter of fact tone. “Your mother was a Forgotten Child as well. Except that she didn't accept it as well as the others...”
“She kept in touch with Aunt Petunia,” he said, realisation dawning. “Aunt Petunia was always saying that her sister sent her letters...”
Hermione nodded and swallowed. “Professor Snape, the man I was talking to, told me about your mother once or twice. They went to school together.” She took a deep breath and Harry could hear it quiver faintly.
“Just who are the Forgotten Children?” Harry asked, leaning in close as if to keep anyone else from hearing.
She tilted her head to the side in thought. “They're dangerous, Harry. I won't pretend that I didn't partake in my share of their activities, but I'm done with that now. Just like your mother, I'm not content to wait by while I live a life that no one is supposed to remember.” She clenched her hands into fists and looked up at him, her gaze filled with determination. “We are going to be remembered, Harry: You and I. I'll make sure of that.”
He could feel his chest swell with her words, and he reached out and grabbed her hand tightly. “I won't let you down.”
Hermione gave a brilliant smile that let him know he had said the right thing.
“So, then, have you called me out here for a reason?” Harry asked, letting a small smile tug at his lips.
She returned the expression, a bit more of a playful tilt to her mouth. “I was thinking we could celebrate by ordering in. We open officially tomorrow, but it'd be nice to spend one more peaceful evening here, right?”
Surprised, he was about to open his mouth to respond when a rapid knock shook the glass door. He twisted around in his chair to find a pimply delivery boy holding up a bag to keep food containers warm.
“And you can't say no because I've already ordered the food.” The reason behind Hermione's impish grin clear, she jumped to her feet and pulled open the door. “Thank you very much, Stan.” She doled out the notes, adding on a few extra as a tip, and took the food containers that the boy was holding out for her.
He accepted the notes, tipping his hat in salute to Harry and Hermione before tucking the empty bag under his arm and retreating down the sidewalk.
She closed the door with a gentle nudge of her foot and gave Harry a victorious grin. “Go upstairs and grab two wine glasses. We'll eat down here.”
Harry couldn't stop the grin, shaking his head because he knew that he could not argue with her.
They were halfway done with dinner, sitting cross-legged on either side of one of the low coffee tables that decorated the office and enjoying a some-what Italian meal when the front door to the office swung open.
Conversation died in their throats, and Harry twisted around to see what was going on.
The tall old man from several weeks ago, the one that had been staring at him at the café, was standing just inside the threshold. He gazed placidly at the two before him over the rim of his half-moon spectacles.
“You again?” Harry asked, adjusting his own glasses in a somewhat self-conscious movement.
Hermione gasped, and he looked over to see her covering her mouth with both hands. Her eyes were wide with surprise and a hint of confusion.
“Good evening, Mister Potter. Miss Granger. I hope I have not interrupted what must have certainly been a very lovely evening.” The old man had his hands folded before him, calm despite the fact that he had just entered into the office uninvited.
Harry opened his mouth, about to tell the man to please leave, but Hermione managed to speak first.
“You're... Dumbledore, aren't you? Albus Dumbledore.” Her voice was soft with awe.
Harry felt his stomach drop to the floor before it jumped up into his throat and blocked his words. This man was Dumbledore?
As if sensing Harry's thoughts, the old man fixed him with an honestly delighted smile and inclined his head slightly to acknowledge Hermione's words with a nod. “Indeed, I am, though I don't believe that is of much consequence these days.”
“Not much consequence?!” Hermione squeaked, her hands jumping to cover her mouth in embarrassment. “With all due respect, Sir, you were the people's favorite to win the campaign for Minister of Magic.”
Harry scrambled to his feet, unconsciously dusting off his pants and trying to make himself look more presentable. “Please, Sir. I need to know.”
“About Lily and James,” Dumbledore said as if he had known all along. When Harry nodded, he placed a hand on the young man's shoulder and gently pushed him back down to his spot by the table. “All in good time, Mister Potter. I would first-” He paused for a moment, letting out a stiff grunt as he used Harry's shoulder to lower himself into a sitting position between the two. “I would first like to offer my congratulations on starting up this business of yours.”
Hermione's eyes were wide as saucers, and she seemed quite beyond speech.
But Harry was not as shocked into silence. “Mister Dumbledore-”
“Professor, if you would, Harry. I never quite left teaching behind me, I'm afraid.” He smiled in an amused fashion as he reached out to pick up one of the bread sticks from the middle of the table.
“Professor Dumbledore, then,” Harry said, feeling a little annoyed that he was being brushed off. “I was told that Remus Lupin and Sirius Black are responsible for the death of my parents.”
Dumbledore didn't make any movement or sound by way of agreement or disagreement.
He pressed on despite the lack of response. “But I was visited a week ago. By a Death Eater-”
“Oh Harry!” Hermione cried, finally finding her voice. “Why didn't you tell me?”
But Harry ignored her outburst. “He said that I should trust Lupin and Black. That what everyone believes about the truth behind my parents' death... is a lie.”
“Very few people know the truth, Harry,” Dumbledore said, his tone serious.
“But I thought-” Hermione started. “What everyone has been told...”
“Miss Granger, there is a difference between the truth and a conclusion drawn from facts.” He unclasped his hands and then locked them behind his back. “The truth is the correct conclusion drawn from facts.”
“Yes, I understand that,” she said, bristling slightly at being treated as ignorant. “What what I don't understand is how we are supposed to know which conclusion to trust.”
“Then let us look at the facts.” Again, Dumbledore unfolded his hands and held them out before him. “James and Lily Potter are dead.”
Harry couldn't help but give a heavy swallow as he watched the old man close one finger in on his palm.
“Sirius is supposed to be dead, but I have it in good faith that the two of you have seen him.” Dumbledore pulled in another finger as Harry and Hermione nodded.
“Peter Pettigrew killed your parents, Harry, that I cannot deny. But what I will contest is that he is that he is guilty of being a traitor.” Dumbledore pulled down a third finger.
Hermione held up her hand, waiting until the man looked at her before she spoke. “But I thought that Pettigrew was killed by Lupin.”
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “That would be an incorrect conclusion drawn from the facts that the two of them have been missing and that Remus knows Fenrir Greyback. Harry, do you mind telling us again about your meeting with this Death Eater last week?”
“Well, he called me 'James' at first,” Harry said slowly. “And he said he wanted to check on me for my dad's sake. And to trust Lupin and Black.” He furrowed his brow in confusion. “Hold on... that was Pettigrew?”
“So you see a problem has arisen in the facts and the conclusion we are given. Yet another man that was supposed to be dead is not, and he even says to trust the one who supposedly killed him.” The old man reached for another bread stick.
“But if Pettigrew killed my parents, why should we trust him or those he tells me to trust?” Harry was starting to feel very frustrated with this man's cryptic speech. “Not to mention, he's a Death Eater.”
“There's one thing you must know about Peter: He is not a strong man.” Harry started to interrupt, but Dumbledore silenced him with a wave of his hand. “He gave in to a power that is far greater than him, and he regrets it terribly. So strictly speaking, he was not the one to fire the curse that killed your parents, but he was the one to lead Tom to them.”
“Tom?” Hermione blurted out. “As in Tom Riddle - the Minister of Magic?”
Dumbledore had an amused smile on his face, though it was barely visible past his beard. “Miss Granger, I was under the impression that you were not entirely fond of our Minister. At least, this is what Professor Snape has informed me.”
She adverted her gaze, hands moving to toy nervously with the fork on her abandoned plate. “It's one thing to believe something as fact and another to find it to be true.
“Indeed. So you understand what it is that I am trying to say?”
Hermione took a moment to think, then nodded. “I do. And I won't change my beliefs.”
“I still don't quite understand,” Harry cut in, raising his hand much like Hermione had done before - but without waiting for acknowledgment. “And I think that, out of all of us here, I should be the one to know. It is my parents and their friends that are in question here.”
Dumbledore held up his hand in a placating manner. “As you know, for I am sure Miss Granger here has undoubtedly told you, Sirius was with your parents when they died. Because of his family ties, he was supposed to get the harsher punishment for his betrayal to the Minister.”
“A kiss from the Dementors,” Harry supplied, though he didn't quite understand the 'family ties' thing.
“Exactly. Peter realised, belatedly, that his own betrayal to his friends was going to cost them their lives. So to attempt an amend, he managed to keep Remus away from the fight.”
“But Peter didn't know that the others believed Remus was a traitor,” Hermione cut in. Her face was a mask of concentration as she tried to put the pieces together before the solution was revealed.
“Correct again,” Dumbledore said. “He and Remus devised a plan to break Sirius out of prison. It went awry, as plans often do, and Sirius' voice was stolen. Remus and Sirius were able to escape once again, but Peter 'disappeared'.” He lifted his hands to pantomime quotes around the last word.
“So, really, none of them are evil and the Ministry has been lying to you all this whole time,” Harry said flatly.
Hermione frowned, though if it was because of his crude phrasing or that he answered before her, he couldn't tell. “What now, then? Professor Snape said that you'd be returning, but I didn't think it would be so soon. Has something happened with the Order?”
Dumbledore leaned back, spreading his hands to indicate the office. “This has happened.”
“We're not even open yet,” Hermione replied indignantly. “We can't even say this is going to be a success.”
The old man smiled, slightly amused by the accusation that was obvious in her tone. “I hope I'm not setting my expectations too high when I say that I think you will be fine. Professor Snape tells me that you are very determined to see this work, Miss Granger, so please don't sell yourself short.”
She looked down at her lap, face flushed with embarrassment. “Yes, Professor,” she muttered.
Dumbledore dabbed at his lips with one of the paper napkins and rose to his feet. “Now, then, I do believe that I should take my leave. The two of you have a big day ahead of you. I wish you the best of luck, Harry. Your parents were wonderful wizards, so it would be no surprise if you are as well.”
“Sir-Professor, just a second,” Harry started, jumping to his feet.
He paused, arching one eyebrow and inclining his head slightly in answer.
“I'm doing this for myself.”
Dumbledore's eyebrows lifted even higher. “I know you are, Harry.”
“No, I mean...” Harry looked down at his feet before clenching his hands into fists and charging on. “Not for the Phoenix Order, or for the Ministry. I'm going into this business for purely selfish reasons.”
Dumbledore smiled, the expression briefly visible before his mouth returned to an even line. “I don't doubt that, my boy. Wizards who are motivated to action by purely selfish reasons often become very mighty. Just be sure that you allow your friends to keep you on the right track.”
With a cryptic wink, and before Harry could say anything else, Dumbledore disappeared with a loud crack.
Harry swore, aiming a kick at the empty space in frustration. “I don't understand him!” he shouted, rounding on Hermione.
“I don't think anyone does,” she admitted, voice calm despite the mixed expressions on her face. “Listen, Harry, just sit down and let's finish eating. He was right - we do have a big day tomorrow.” Hermione reached for her wine glass, but her hand faltered and fell back to her lap before she could grasp the stem.
“Hermione...?”
She looked up at him, clearly angry. “When were you going to tell me that a Death Eater came to visit you?”
He rubbed the back of his head. “I wanted to, I just didn't know how to bring it up... And I wanted to get some information of my own first before telling you...”
She sighed and reached for her glass again. “Next time, tell me as soon as it happens, all right? We're in this together, so anything that happens to you is now officially my business.” Despite her serious tone, there was a faint smile on her lips. “Hope you don't think you're in over your head. Too late to back out now.”
Harry hesitated, thinking back to what Aunt Petunia had said about Lily. In over her head. On the wrong side. He returned to his spot at the table and held out his wine glass towards her. “Wouldn't dream of it.”
The grin spread across her face and she tapped her glass against his. “Cheers.”
Unlike other grand openings, there were no balloons or cutting of tape. Hermione simply unlocked the doors, double-checked her spells, and took her pace at the reception desk. Harry loitered in the front lobby for a long while before being shooed back into his office. Then he simply loitered behind his desk and marveled at the entire concept.
He had a business.
Of course, what exactly their business did was uncertain - even to him - and they hadn't even settled on a name. But the fact remained that there was one, and it was his (or it was Daniel Puckle's, more technically).
Around noon, Hermione left to get lunch, and she told Harry to at least try to look productive in case anyone came by. When he asked why would someone come by, and if they did what should he say, she merely shrugged and told him to improvise.
He decided to try and come up with a name for the company. Chances were it would end up vetoed by Hermione, but at least he would look busy.
Spells, he had realised when he would go to the library and read, were predominately in Latin or Latin-based. So the name would be, too. It would let others know that they were a magic-based company... at least, in theory.
Half an hour later, with several failed attempts at a name struck out on the blotter before him, the sound of bells echoed through the otherwise silent office.
Harry's pen paused, but he quickly resumed scribbling down a list of words. “How does Mens et Manus sound as a name?” he called without looking up.
There was a moment of silence, then, “Absolute rubbish, since you're asking, though I would have to figure you didn't mean to ask me.”
That wasn't Hermione's voice. His head jerked up, glasses slipping down his nose with the motion.
A slight young woman with a rather tangled mess of pale blonde hair stood in the doorway to his office. Her eyes were wide in what seemed to be a permanent state of surprised curiosity, and she held a strange contraption in her hands that could easily have been a medieval torture device if it wasn't for what might have been a carrot on the brow of the thing. “I take it Miss Granger isn't in the girl's room, then?”
“Who are you?” Harry asked, half-rising from his chair. He didn't know if he should be on edge or not.
“Luna,” she said as if that explained everything. When his expression said that it didn't, she clarified with, “Lovegood. I do believe Miss Granger told you about me” She held up the carrot-encrusted torture device.
“Oh... Oh! Yes, Hermione did mention you.” He hesitated, then rounded the desk to stand in front of her. “Did you have an appointment for today?” He actually had no idea if it would make a difference, but it sounded like the right thing to say in the situation.
She tilted her head to the side. “Should I have made one?”
He hesitated again, looking back at his blotter with the scribbled names. “Er, I actually don't know. I suppose not. From what Hermione said, it sounds like that we'll be working together quite frequently, so I guess in that case, making meetings would be kind of pointless.”
Luna smiled and held out her hand. “Pleasure.” As she shook his hand, she asked, “Would it be okay to call you Harry? Since we'll be working together quite frequently.”
“Oh, er, yes, yes of course that's fine!” Harry adjusted his glasses nervously, then flattened his hair over his forehead when he noticed that she had been staring at his scar for practically the entire conversation. “Please, sit. Is that the device that Hermione was telling me about?”
Luna took the offered seat and placed the device on the desk beside him. “It's my own design. Theoretically, it should harmonize with the spirits and enable the wearer's voice to match that rhythm.” She pulled the chair closer and fiddled with a knob on the side of the crown. “My theory is that the dead speak on a different wavelength, and those with your ability are attuned to it.”
“So... the scar is sort of like an antenna to receive their signal?”
She considered this for a moment, then laughed at the idea and nodded. “Yes, I think that's a good way of putting it. Now, in your case...” Luna reached up and tapped his forehead. “Your antenna is broken, so it can't receive the full signal. This will help you tune in correctly.”
“A carrot?”
“A dirigible plum, actually.”
“A what plum?”
Luna tossed her hair back over her shoulder, and he noticed a flash of orange hanging from her ears. Her earrings were a similar shape to the carrot thing, though it still didn't explain just what they were. “It's used to enhance your ability to accept the abnormal. In this case, talking to the dead.”
“Hermione made it sound like you would try to get it to work for other people as well - not just ones like me.”
“Yes, that would be an ultimate goal,” she confessed, patting the crown fondly. “It would work differently, of course, because they aren't naturally attuned to receive transmissions from spirits.”
“Transmissions,” Harry said with a chuckle. “Now I really do feel like a radio.”
Luna gave him what was probably meant to be a reassuring smile, but it made him feel a little uneasy. “Would you like to start?”
“Now?”
She shrugged. “I don't see why not. I mean, I am here, after all.”
Harry gave the crown a long look before he relented with a sigh. “Should I call Hermione and ask her to pick up something for you to eat as well?”
Luna waved her hand to dismiss the idea. “I've already eaten. Here, sit down and I'll get started.”
Quite unsure just what would happen with the device, Harry returned to his desk chair and sat down as instructed.
She followed behind him, crown in hand, and waited until he was comfortable before placing it ceremoniously on his head. “Oh, it fits. I'm glad. I used my father's head to size it - I thought, better too big than too small!”
“Are you saying I have a large head?” Harry glanced up at her, but only got a faceful of blonde hair as she leaned across him to adjust a knob on the far side.
Luna only laughed, and he decided that he rather liked the way she laughed. She seemed to find almost everything amusing. Which was quite refreshing from how serious he had been feeling lately.
“This isn't going to hurt, is it?” This time Harry sat still as he asked the question. Her hair was already tickling his nose and it made him want to sneeze.
She pulled back to look down at him. “I should think not terribly. There might be a shock, but it runs on magic.”
For a moment, he started to panic. “I can't do magic.”
Luna waggled a finger in his face and smiled. “Of course you can.”
“But I failed when I went to the Ministry for my examination.”
“Just because you couldn't do a spell then doesn't mean you can't do it.” She paused for a moment to drag one of the chairs on the other side of the desk back around so she could perch on the end of it - much like a small owl, her eyes wide and unblinking. “Now, let's begin.” Luna started to reach into her purse, but Harry caught onto her wrist to stop her.
“What do you mean I can do magic?”
She tilted her head to the side. “Well, it's only a theory.”
He leaned back in his chair - though he immediately jumped back up again when the crown knocked against the back of it. “I'd love to hear it.” If there was a chance that he could do magic, then he'd finally be able to find a place to fit in to.
“Anyone killed by a Death Eater - we sort of have come to believe that they are like Riddle's private army,” she clarified, seeing his momentary look of confusion, “has their voice trapped. It's become common belief amongst the Phoenix Order that those voices that the Chosen Ones can hear belong to the victims of the Death Eaters.”
Harry held up his hands, silently repeating her words back to him to try and figure out what it was that she was saying. “First off... Chosen One?” He snorted.
She shrugged again. “That was a name they settled on. That seems to be a general term that comes to be associated with people that have special abilities that are hunted down, wouldn't you agree?”
Frankly, he had no idea just what think so he gave her a shrug in return. This seemed to satisfy her, so she went on.
“With a name like 'Death Eater', you can guess that whatever it is they do to their victims, it is not pleasant.” If Luna noticed Harry's hands grip the arms of his chair, she didn't show it. “Now, my theory is - and several of the Order share it with me - that because your parents died protecting you, their spirits refused to stop protecting you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“If you were to enter the magical community, your scar and abilities would become known by the Minister,” Luna said matter-of-factly. Her wide eyes peered up at him with a sudden curiosity. “You never figured?” When he shook his head, she made small noise and went on like it was the most obvious reasoning. “Your parents were both excellent wizards, so it stands to reason that you could have been one as well. If you were to show off your talent, the Minister would take an interest in you and if he found out who you were...-” She made a squelching sound and pantomimed cutting her neck.
“Still,” she said, cheerful as ever, “if your magic was to be sealed, then you could be hidden away.”
“So my parents' spirits are... blocking my magic?” He wasn't entirely too sure how to deal with the information. “How come I can't hear them like the others, then? If they're spirits, I should be able to hear them-!”
Luna shook her head and sat back, though she didn't look all too concerned with his problem. “I would imagine it's because they're not trapped the way the others are. They are a part of you, not the ether where souls normally linger.” Satisfied with her explanation, Luna clapped her hands together and said, “Let's get started, shall we?”