Harry looked for Tura at the staff table every meal until she finally reappeared two days later. After that, he stopped eating in the Great Hall. He wouldn't set foot in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, even while Moody was teaching.
A spotted owl brought a letter to him in the common room that first Friday. It was from Tura, tersely stating that his assistance was no longer needed for the Remedial Defense class on Sunday mornings. He crumpled it up and threw it into the fire, and let the little owl pick through the rest of the breakfast that Dobby had brought to him.
He knew it was only a matter of time before his friends accosted him. They spent the first week glancing at him and talking amongst themselves, and he would have been happy to let it go on indefinitely, but there was no such luck. On Sunday, Hermione approached him with a determined look in her eyes, and he knew there was no escape.
"Come for a walk with me, Harry, will you?" she said in a disarmingly quiet tone.
He had a choice. He could refuse, and she would ask again more demandingly, and it would rapidly spiral into an ugly confrontation right there in the common room for everyone to watch. That would end in hurt feelings and embarassment, and he didn't want to hurt Hermione, any more than he'd meant to hurt Tura. "Coming," he said, though he dragged his feet as he followed her through the portrait hole.
She walked all the way up to the Owlery without speaking. It was cold up there, but not unbearable; apparently it was being heated for the benefit of owls not hardy to the local climate. Hedwig hooted, genuinely happy to see him. In the way of animals who have come to know humankind, she intuitively sensed that this was not the time for mischief, and swooped over right away to politely offer her leg. She looked disappointed that he had no letter for her to deliver. Harry patted his pockets and discovered the shortbread that Fawkes had pilfered from the Headmistress's office, a bit stale and cracked but still quite edible, particularly for a creature whose idea of a delicacy was an unpeeled mouse. Hedwig gently took it from his fingers, without her usual ornery nip.
"Well?" said Hermione, leaning back against a stone ledge full of old nests and broken eggshells.
"I don't want to talk about it," he said. At least it was the truth.
Surprisingly, she answered, "I see," but he knew he wouldn't get off that easily. "You know we're all worried about you, don't you, Harry?"
He sighed. "You don't need to."
"You're not eating anymore."
"I eat. Dobby brings me food."
"Dobby brings food to you, and he takes almost all of it away, too. I asked him to use a Wildfire Whiz-Bang as a garnish on Friday's lunch, which was also served to you on Saturday and again today. Had you picked up your sandwich, it would have gone off."
Busted. Harry hadn't even lifted the warming lid over his lunches. He shrugged. "I'm not eating as much. I stuffed myself over the holidays."
"You do know Ron tends to go to bed late, and Neville gets up early?"
After seven years of being their roommate, Harry knew exactly what time each of them got up, brushed their teeth, went to bed, and generally began snoring. "Yeah."
"Neither of them have seen you asleep all week," said Hermione. "You stay up late with the light on in your bed, and you're gone before Neville wakes up in the morning." It was a statement, it was true, and Harry felt no need to comment.
Hermione stared at him, rallying for the final showdown. "Harry. I admittedly was a bit distracted last weekend, but I saw how you and Professor Ondossi were getting on. And now you're not going to her class, not helping her on Sundays, not eating, not sleeping..."
Harry ran his hands through his hair. "Look. It didn't work out. She's a professor, after all. I thought... I don't know what I thought. But it doesn't matter; she doesn't want me."
Hermione raised her brows, her mouth drawn into a skeptical pout. "I see. That certainly explains why she went to the Hog's Head and picked a fist-fight, of all things, just at the same time your mood turned sour."
Harry winced; the story of Tura's injury was growing more fantastic over time. "Yeah, well, you'll have to ask her about that. She's the only mind I can't read."
"I'm asking you, Harry."
"Well, don't!" he snapped impatiently. "I told you I don't want to talk about it. I'm disappointed, all right? I've spent a lot of time with her lately, and I thought there might be something there between us, but there just isn't. It stinks, but there you are. You'll have to excuse me for not acting like Mr. Merry Sunshine in the aftermath."
"Well, neither is she, which you'd know if you came to class! Harry, you need to go talk to her, try to settle your differences--"
"NO!" he barked, then ground his teeth until he could speak quietly. "There's no need to talk. We understand each other perfectly. I just can't see her right now, Hermione. Maybe she's mad because I'm skiving her class, I don't know." Every word made his stomach burn; he hated lying to Hermione.
"Fine, then," Hermione said, her icy tone clarifying that things were about as far from fine as one could get. "You can insult my intelligence, I don't mind. I'll just trot back to the common room and tell everyone not to fret, there's nothing amiss about you sulking all night and taking your meals by yourself, or not taking them, which is more accurate. And when Ondossi snaps at us like a rabid Blast-Ended Skrewt, we'll just relax, knowing that even though she's taking it out on all of us, she's really only angry with you." She gave him a stiff smile and started down the stairs.
"Hermione..." He owed her more than that; he had to tell her something, but what? "Look. Obviously there were hard feelings," he said, stalling for time, searching for some partial explanation that wouldn't be a lie. "I think... Do you remember her 'angel,' the one who first taught her Occlumency? He was captured by Voldemort a year ago. She heard he was still alive over the summer, but nothing since. She got quite upset when the subject came up."
Hermione slowly nodded, ascending the stairs back into the Owlery proper. "So spending a day on the back of your broom and holding hands in the tea shop made her feel guilty. Oh, Harry, that's terrible! The poor dear! Without knowing whether he's alive or dead, she can't move on, it would feel like a betrayal."
This was sounding good. Harry knew if he simply clammed up and let Hermione run with the concept, it would take on a life of its own. "That could be right," he ventured.
It worked. The sternness left Hermione's eyes, replaced by empathy and kindness. "Oh, Harry. I'm so sorry." She took a step toward him with her arms open, but he shrank away.
"Don't," he said. She stopped in mid stride and stared at him in confusion. "I just... Please, Hermione. Just leave me alone. For now." I don't deserve your tenderness.
She averted her gaze. "All right. I'll leave you be, but you're not alone, Harry Potter. We're all right here, when you're ready." She stretched out her arm and gave his shoulder a little squeeze. "Come on," she said, heading for the stairs.
"I'll be along in a minute, I... have some post." He beckoned to Hedwig, who abandoned her shortbread and landed on his arm. Hermione departed with a shrug.
"Hello, girl," he said, ruffling the small round feathers on her head. She twittered contentedly and stretched her neck, inviting him to skritch under her chin. "I'll have a letter for you in a minute, but I have to write it first."
Parchment. He patted down his pockets again, hoping he had something to write on. The only thing he found was the Marauder's Map. Dad made this so it would never lie, he thought. He folded it carefully and tucked it back into his robes. "I don't suppose you have a spare parchment?" he asked Hedwig. The owl promptly bobbed her head and launched from his arm with a frenzied flap, right through one of the tall windows. She returned a short time later with a small, clean square of parchment in her beak.
"Do I even want to know where you nicked this?" he teased gently. Her disdainful glare nearly brought a smile to his face, the first in a week.
He had a quill, and a small bottle of ink. He stared at the parchment for some time, wondering what he could possibly say. I'm sorry, Tura. I've never been sorrier in my life, not for anything I've ever done. I don't even know why I did it. Can you forgive me? Will you? He couldn't write any of them down; none of them could adequately express what was in his heart.
"I'm sorry, Hedwig," Harry finally said. "I can't concentrate." He smoothed her feathers back in place, then returned to Gryffindor Tower.
The Fat Lady smiled kindly at him, but before he could give the password, she said, "Don't bother, dearie. Professor Ondossi wants to see you in her office right away. She told me not to let you in until you came to her." Her smile became apologetic. "I have to do as she says, young man, but I don't know why she'd even ask such a thing."
"Because I've been skiving her class," he said simply, and headed for the dungeon.
Her door was wide open, and a cauldron bubbled thickly on the small laboratory bench in the corner. Tura was scratching furiously at some essays. Essays? he thought. She never assigns essays.
"Moody did that," she said without looking up. "Now I'm stuck grading them. I think he did that on purpose. Sit." She finished the parchment she was working on, covering it with green ink. "Kid's got the facts right," she noted grudgingly, setting down her quill. "But he hasn't a clue about punctuation." She folded her hands atop the desk and eyed him coolly.
"You're avoiding me," she finally said. "Explain yourself."
Harry's recent attempt to write the note proved that he had no simple answer to give, and the complete one was too painful to say aloud. She continued to stare, then to his chagrin, picked up her wand.
"All right," she said, her voice throaty and deliberate. "You may have lost all respect for me, but you will come to my class. Don't make me complain to your Head of House--you know how Hagrid is, it'll get messy."
Harry had to speak up. "Tura, no. That's not it at all... Please."
She studied him a moment, then set down her wand again. "So it's regret, is it, that's keeping you away? Not contempt?"
"Regret," he stammered. "That's a good start."
Unsmiling, she responded, "Need a thesaurus?"
Harry shook his head, closing his eyes and clearing his throat. "Tura, I'm so ashamed. If there were a single Time-Turner left in the Department of Mysteries, I'd go back and wring my own neck."
She sighed aloud, sitting back ever so slightly in her chair. "You can't. The minute you accost your past self, you return to the present. A Squib named Heisenberg figured out why, but I couldn't follow the argument." She sighed again. "I get your point, though. That's good. I'm glad you're ashamed. You did a terrible thing; your conscience should bother you."
In rare form, she seemed to be waiting for him to reply. "Got that covered," he finally rasped, fighting back tears which had been threatening since Hermione had shepherded him to the Owlery.
She nodded. "As it happens, I've been thinking, and mine's bothering me a bit as well."
Harry raised his head. "You've done nothing wrong--"
Tura spoke over him sharply. "Don't interrrupt!" She scowled until he shrank meekly into his chair, then she continued. "The other night at the Hospital Wing, I was angry and afraid, and I wouldn't let you speak. I assumed the worst of you, that you were going to use my identity to blackmail me. I said some things that were both cruel and unfounded. I never met Albus Dumbledore. I don't know anything about his motives or reasons, but I do know you cared about him. I suggested that he was manipulating you just to... well, just to distract you, so you'd leave me alone."
"Tura," Harry began, but once again she cut him off with a stern glare.
"Let me finish! You look awful. I noticed you haven't been coming to meals. You've lost weight, and your eyes are all bloodshot and droopy. What I said hit you hard, didn't it? I could see it in your eyes at the time--you looked like you'd been shot. At the time I was glad, because you went away, but now I'm not glad. I'm sor--."
As soon as he heard it coming, Harry leapt to his feet, raising his hands before his face as though he could block the words from his ears. "DON'T! Don't apologize to me for being afraid, after... I owe you the apology, Tura." The tears finally won the battle, overflowing in a sudden rush of grief. "I don't even know where to start; nothing I can say even begins to..." His voice withered away and he hung his head, unable to stop sobbing.
"Sit," she said quietly, and he obeyed. She waited silently as he fought to regain his composure. It took some time, and it was all nearly undone again when she finally said, "You really did care, didn't you?"
His knuckles whitened around the arms of the chair. "I do care."
She narrowed her eyes. "No you don't," she said matter-of-factly with a dismissive wave. "But that's not important. What matters now is that I've undercut your trust in Dumbledore, and that wasn't my place. Listen to me, Potter." Her tone was firm and practiced, the one she used in the classroom. "Your aunt and uncle raised you to feel unwanted. I don't know why they chose that; neither do you. They had their own reasons, and we can speculate all day long on what those were. Jealousy, resentment, just-plain-no-goodniks--or maybe something we'd never guess in a million years. Maybe you're uncle's a Death Eater and he's been totally freaked out about how he's going to explain the situation to Lord Voldemort." Neither of them smiled, but both made a small sniffing sound, a hint of a chortle.
"The point, though, is that they took this sweet, perfect little baby, and they imposed upon him their view that he was no good, that he was less deserving than Diddlykins or whatever they call that meatloaf cousin of yours. They did it for their own reasons, which had nothing to do with who you actually are, Harry. In fact, I'll bet they put more thought into buying a new car or a new fridge than into why, exactly, they treated you the way they did.
"Just for a minute, Harry, I want you to imagine your life if you hadn't turned out to be a wizard--if you hadn't been pulled out of that suffocating, demeaning environment. I don't know how you might have turned out, but I'd imagine it would've taken quite a toll on you, don't you think?"
Harry swallowed. He wasn't quite sure what point Tura was trying to make, but he obediently spent a moment envisioning what it would have been like to grow up all these years as a Muggle in the Dursley household. Once Dudley left for Smeltings, it might not have been so bad, for at least the daily bullying would stop. Then again, without Dudley to distract his aunt and uncle, they would have had more time to focus on Harry's "faults." He could easily picture the three of them at the kitchen table every night, eating meals that he prepared after school. On a good evening, his uncle would read the paper and dine without comment, while a typical evening would involve complaints about the food, the table settings, his grades, his appearance, his worthlessness... Harry twitched his head violently to shake the image from his mind; it was ugly. Once he was too big to fit in the cupboard under the stairs, he probably would have run away and lived in the streets and alleys of London.
"Worse than the steam tunnels," Tura remarked knowingly. "But that's neither here nor there, because you are a wizard, and you didn't have to live that nightmare that your relatives chose for you. Instead, you came here and lived this life." She paused meaningfully.
"I said that Dumbledore spent the last six years manipulating you. When you look at the surface, that seems true. But I want you to really think about this for a minute, Harry.
"You escaped your relatives NOT because of Dumbledore, but because of Wizard law, established centuries ago, that entitles all magical children to be educated here. Once you were here, probably the single most influential decision in your whole life was made, NOT by Dumbledore, but by that mangy old Sorting Hat. It even gave you a say in the matter when you begged against Slytherin--even though all you knew about the house of my ancestor was what Hagrid had told you."
She paused with a rueful glance, and for a moment Harry felt somewhat awed, as he had when he'd first heard Elias Ravenclaw say his name. He suddenly felt a kinship with the original Founders, for he'd never been able to really comprehend why they welcomed a Dark wizard into their midst. Perhaps Tura embodied the real essence of Salazar Slytherin, before he became obsessed with bloodlines and purity: tenacious and cunning, but not hateful.
"The ways your relatives treated you--and the things the Dark Lord did to you--were obviously wrong, so it's easy to recognize them as manipulations. On the other hand, the Hat's decision has worked for you, Harry, so you've never resented it--even though it cut a huge swath through your future. So where does 'guiding' end and 'manipulating' begin? Such things aren't always cut-and-dried.
"Dumbledore knew the Prophecy. He knew you were destined for great and terrible things. So he allowed slightly lesser things happen to you without interceding. Does that mean he was turning you into a weapon, or was he preparing you for what ultimately lay ahead? Most parents teach their kids to swim, just in case they ever find themselves in water. Is that manipulating? Or just good sense?"
She sighed heavily. "Dumbledore may have had good reasons for letting you face such dangerous people alone. Or maybe he just found himself frozen with indecision most of the time. He was a great wizard, but he was never a parent. Taking care of one little boy up close is different from managing hundreds from the staff table.
"Do you understand now that I was wrong to say that Dumbledore has been making you his tool? You don't need to feel like your relationship with the old man was all a lie. I said it because I was angry, but I didn't know what I was talking about. It was oversimplified and unfair. So I want you to quit doubting, quit laying awake at night, quit being miserable, and all that. Will you?"
Harry cleared his throat. "I'll think about what you've said."
She nodded. "Will you come back to my class?"
That was a lot to ask. It was still taking a significant act of will to maintain his composure, for every time he looked at her he envisioned his handprint on her throat. "Will you forgive me for hurting you?"
Pulling her arms in over her chest and tummy, she answered in a quiet, bitter tone. "It's already forgiven, Harry. But I don't... Things can't be like they were."
A cold fist closed around the base of his throat and squeezed itself all the way along the length of his gut. "Things," he said. "Is there nothing left between us, then?"
She bowed her head, staring at the essay on the desk before her. "I don't mean there's nothing. But it's not the same. I mean... there has to be trust. I believed you wouldn't let me fall, Harry. For one bright day, I believed it. But it was an illusion. Nothing my father touches can stay whole or good for long."
She looked up again. "You're sad. I am too. We both lost something special. Here." She opened the top drawer of the desk and pulled out something tiny; Harry recognized it in an instant from the general size and color. It was the key he'd given her, the chain wrapped tightly around it in a glittering ball. "I can't keep this anymore." She made a tossing motion with her hand, threw it to him.
Harry caught it woodenly, his eyes brimming with tears once again. He stood up and approached the lab bench. "Is this FrostBreak salve?" he asked, his voice gravelly and tight.
"Madam Pomfrey used up all she had on me," Tura said, picking up her quill with a meaningful glance at the stack of essays.
Harry had brewed FrostBreak salve last year in Slughorn's class. It had to be made in a black iron cauldron, for it would dissolve all shiny metals instantly. The Half-Blood Prince had, as usual, left comments in the margins of his textbook, noting that silver and gold seemed to enhance its healing properties, but were far too expensive to be included routinely.
Harry dropped the key into the gurgling cauldron. "I won't be needing it anymore," he mumbled to himself, and left the dungeon.
His feet felt like lead, and he paid so little attention that he landed hard on the trick step and sunk into it up to his knee. He stared at it blankly, lacking the energy at that point to curse the fool thing, much less struggle with it. Within a few seconds, though, a beautiful, distant note filtered down through the staircase and the step released him not just instantly, but gently. Fawkes, Harry thought listlessly. He really is in charge here.
By the time Harry had reached the sixth floor landing, he heard the pounding feet of someone coming up quickly behind him. "Whit like, Harry!" came a cheery, if somewhat out-of-breath, voice of Elias Ravenclaw from the landing below. "Hing on, I'm in the way o' Gryffindor meself." He darted up the intervening flight of stairs and clapped Harry jovially on the back. He was carrying a small package wrapped in Christmas paper covered with cardinals preening themselves on fir boughs. "Got a wee Yuil giftie for Ginny!" he announced, giving the package a smart pat.
He took a closer look at Harry and a bit of the spring left his step. "You're no weel, are ye no? Ye look terrible, Harry."
"It's nothing," he muttered, resuming his climb.
"Nocht, aye. Tha's why yeh haen't been to class all week, eh?"
Harry generally enjoyed listening to Elias speak about anything in his lilting dialect, but this line of questioning had grown old over the course of the day. "Don't go on, Elias," Harry said. "If you want to harp on me about that, you'll have to get in the queue like everyone else."
The good-natured Scot laughed aloud and patted him again. "I'll be leaving it to the pros, then."
Harry ushered Elias through the portrait hole, intending to head straight to his room, but Ron and Hermione intercepted him at the spiral staircase. Ron gave him a brief, apologetic shrug as Hermione eyed him with concern. "Everything okay, Harry?" she asked, making his stomach tighten. The last thing he wanted was Hermione mothering him protectively in the midst of all this.
"I'm fine." He forced himself to slow down and look her in the eye. "Really, I'm fine. We talked a little. She understands now, why I'm not in class. I think she'll lighten up a bit on the rest of you."
From behind Hermione, Ron tipped his head to raise his eyes to the heavens and gave Harry a silent thumbs up. Hermione closed her eyes and grated, "Ron, you might notice the reflections in Harry's glasses sometime." She resumed her look of matronly concern for Harry and said somewhat hesitantly, "I may have figured out who she's pining for, Harry. Do you want to hear it?"
Great, he thought, wishing he'd never thrown Hermione a red herring. But he was a tad curious about this mystery man, rival or no. "Sure."
Hermione hunched her shoulders down and spoke even more quietly. "Now, I'm not completely certain, because not all the dates add up cleanly, but some of them are a bit cryptic." Harry rolled his eyes impatiently, making her scowl. "The key point is that Ondossi heard news of him over the summer. Well, in August, the three of us made a report to Headquarters that Fortescue had come to the Green Dragon Inn at Godric's Hollow."
"Of course!" said Ron. "Calliope--the ice cream man!"
Hermione nodded. "There can't be many wizards who have been kidnapped by Voldemort and were later spotted alive. I can only think of Fortescue, actually, though there may have been others in the past. But I'm quite sure that he's the only victim who reappeared over the summer!"
"The Prophet would have put it all over the front page if they'd known someone had 'escaped' from Voldemort," said Ron. "Scrimgeour would have made it sound like the Aurors had sprung him on a secret rescue mission."
"And if anyone else had been spotted by the Order, we would have heard of it by now," agreed Hermione. "You probably would have learned it from Professor Lupin, even if he didn't speak it aloud," she added, tapping her forehead meaningfully.
Harry scrunched up his face in a thoughtful scowl. "But Fortescue disappeared before our 6th year even started, and Tura said it had been a year since she'd spoken to him."
"I know," said Hermione. "That doesn't quite fit."
Ron shrugged. "We know Voldemort was sending Fortescue on missions back into Wizard society. Maybe the poor bloke was sent to Northport a year ago. For all we know, Voldemort might have sent him as a courier to Ondossi herself!"
"Fortescue knew a lot about the History of Magic," began Harry uneasily, "but I never heard a word about him being an Occlumens."
"I imagine that's the whole point," said Hermione. "I mean, you want to be so skilled at Occlumency that no one, not even a Legilimens, can tell you're doing it."
Harry started to reply, but just then a shriek cut through the conversation. They turned as one to the source, discovering to their surprise that it came from Ginny Weasley, who was staring in horror at something on the floor. Ron dashed across the common room to his sister's side. "What hap--" he began, ending in a gasp as he followed her gaze downward. He halted so abruptly that Harry and Hermione nearly skidded into his back.
From their vantage point, neither Harry nor Hermione could see the object that had caused such consternation until Elias leaned over and picked it up. It was his Christmas present, the wrapping paper torn off in one corner. Ginny's eyes were fixed upon it, and she backed away until she ran into Ron and Harry. Elias, however, gaped at her in utter bewilderment. "Are ye takkin me on, Gin?" he said almost pleadingly. "It's a book, na?"
Unsure what the fuss was about, Harry glanced at Ron, who was aiming his wand at the befuddled Scot and looked but a hair shy of jinxing him into the hospital wing. Harry put a swift hand on Ron's wrist to keep him from doing something rash. "What the devil, Ron? Have you both gone spare?" he asked, glancing back at Elias to make sure Ron hadn't done a nonverbal spell. Elias had, in the meantime, removed the rest of the wrapping from his gift and was holding it aloft for all to see that it was nothing dangerous.
The sight of the thin black book, however, almost led Harry to draw his own wand. "Where'd you get that?" he said, his voice low but controlled.
Elias's shocked expression widened even further. "It's a buik, man! A family heirloom! Ma ever-so-greet gran had a thing for buiks, as ye might imagine. She lef' us an enchanted case, what's ever makin' nui buiks!" His voice softened into a plea for insight. "It's a gift, Gin. Nothin' ta mak ye tak the hurt."
Hermione nodded and came around Ginny and the boys. "May I see it, Elias?" she asked kindly, bringing obvious relief to his eyes. She examined the front cover closely as soon as he handed it over, then flipped through the blank pages and peered at the back before addressing them all.
"I never got a good look at the original, but this seems to be an exact replica in every way except the year. Look," she said, pointing to the gold writing on the bottom corner of the cover. "1998. The other was dated 1950." She gleamed triumphantly.
"Other? What are you on abet, Hermione?" said Elias.
Harry was catching on, and beckoned to Hermione to hand him the book. He, too, peered closely at the front and back, then showed it to Ron and Ginny with a comforting nod. "We've seen a book like this once before," he explained. "It had been, um, cursed, and it caused quite a bit of trouble before we destroyed it. Especially for Ginny here."
"Cursed? Niver!" said Elias loudly. "I told ye, these are the legacy of Rowena Ravenclaw herself! Wha' wizard can corrupt her magic, I'd like ta know?"
Harry gestured with his hand for Elias to quiet down, and put his arm confidentially around the Scot's shoulder. "I think we need to let you in on a little secret."
The Order of the Phoenix had kept silent about the Horcruxes. It had become a worldwide organization and comprised many members of Wizard governments, but all knowledge of Voldemort's most precious relics was protected by the Fidelius Charm. Lupin had been made the Secret-Keeper within hours of reading Dumbledore's will, and though he had spread the word amongst other leaders in the Order, he made sure the press would not learn of any aspect of the Horcruxes. Spreading the news widely might have helped the searching process, but word would undoubtedly get back to Voldemort and there was no telling what he might do to protect his links to immortality. The Dark Army must believe that the Wizarding World was blissfully unaware of the Horcruxes.
Harry-and-Viktor, Ron, and Hermione accompanied Elias to the Headmistress's office and soon persuaded her to Floo Lupin at Headquarters. Lupin was a bit distracted, but focused on Harry when he said, "It's about the Order's Secret." From the hearth, he could see that there was an unknown wizard with Harry, and he immediately abandoned his current project and stepped through the Floo in a puff of emerald flame.
"I'm Remus Lupin," he said, offering a hand to Elias, though he was gazing sidelong at Harry. He jolted and ogled in the usual fashion when he heard the young wizard's name. "Of course. The maniac Beater," he stammered, covering up his surprise.
"The same," said Elias with a winsome smile.
"Elias brought us a family heirloom," said Hermione, holding up the thin black book. "One of a set, made by his ancestor Rowena Ravenclaw."
Slackjawed, Lupin took it from her and examined it carefully. "I see," he murmured, rifling slowly through the first few pages." He eyed "the maniac Beater" with even more reverence. "Mr. Ravenclaw," he said, "This is a matter of grave importance." He turned to the others. "Can he be trusted?"
Harry turned to Elias and penetrated his mind with a feeling of distaste, but he knew it was an utter necessity. He found exactly what he expected to find: an honest man with a heart of gold who was already quite in love with Ginny Weasley. Snapping back into himself, he felt the onset of numbness, even as he noticed Elias blanch and take several steps backwards. "Yes."
Lupin grimaced, undoubtedly recalling his own experiences with Harry's magic, and asked Elias kindly, "Do you know of the Order of the Phoenix?"
Elias gulped. "I ken."
"This issue is a Secret of the Order. If you're to be a part of it, you must become a member, do you understand?"
The younger wizard drew himself to his full height. "Aye. It wad be an honor, Mr. Lupin."
Harry confirmed his sincerity with but a delicate brush against his mind. "I support this candidate," he said.
Krum cleared his throat. "Also I support this candidate." Ron and Hermione glanced at one another uneasily; they had never seen a new member brought into the Order. Harry hadn't either, but it had been present in Lupin's mind many times over. He'd picked up the prodeedure without even realizing it.
And Harry himself had nominated Krum for the Order, but Viktor had also gone through the formal induction process. Thus he knew the routine.
Tossing an errant strand of hair from his eyes, Lupin smiled at Elias. "Very good. Will you swear to serve the Order of the Phoenix, Elias Ravenclaw?"
"I so swear," he answered solemnly.
With that, the formality ended. "Welcome, then," said Lupin, squeezing the younger wizard's shoulders with a warm grin. The entire room seemed suffused with warmth, and all of them spent a moment hugging or patting Elias and one another. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Dumbledore's portrait smile blissfully, before settling back into the facade of sleep.
Lupin proceeded with a very brief explanation about the Horcruxes. He said only that they concealed part of Voldemort's soul, and that they expected to find Horcruxes made out of artifacts from each of the Hogwarts Founders. He didn't mention the link between the Horcruxes and Voldemort's immortality, nor that they suspected a total of six existed. Even though the secret was protected by the Fidelius Charm, Lupin apparently wasn't divulging any more than necessary. Harry wondered if the the people in that room were the only ones besides Voldemort himself that knew the full truth. And Tura, he reminded himself; she had lifted the facts straight from the Dark Lord's mind.
"No one understood why Voldemort chose to use a book," Lupin concluded. "Knowing that it was a relic of Rowena Ravenclaw's would solve a huge riddle. Elias, if there's any doubt in your mind that this diary is authentic, you must tell us. Our strategy will depend on your answer, and we can't afford to be wrong."
"Understood," said the Scot. "I won't let you daen."
Lupin nodded. "This was the original diary," he said, reaching into his robes and bringing forth a bundle wrapped in brown paper. "It was recovered in the raid on Malfoy Manor, after Draco and his mother disappeared." With a tap of his wand, the cover unfurled, and Lupin gave Harry a meaningful look. Harry had returned the ruined book to Lucius Malfoy with a sock inside it, setting Dobby free of his former master. He shuddered, realizing that if Malfoy had returned it to his master, Voldemort would know that one of his Horcruxes had been destroyed.
Elias gasped aloud at the sight of the mangled cover, clearly unused to seeing their beloved heirloom treated so badly. He examined it dutifully, even prying apart the binding and rubbing the pages between his fingertips. "Not a doubt," he said firmly. "They're all the same, an I been writin' in them a lang time." He shook his head. "Mum and Gran wad cry their eyes oot to see this."
"Have you noticed any of them missing?" said Lupin.
"Na. The shelf's enchanted. Take one daen, another takes its place. We don't give them oot to just anyone, mind, but they're for sharing. Rowena's wish, ye ken--any that wants to read or write can do it."
Lupin pointed at the "Vauxhall Rd" imprint on the back cover of the ruined diary. "Do you have any idea how this one turned up in a shop in Muggle London?"
Elias shook his head. "None. We don't give them to just anybody, but they do leave the family now and again." Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Viktor each squirmed awkwardly at this confession. Their friend had offered a rare boon to Ginny, and been treated like a criminal for it.
"Thank you, Elias," said Lupin with warmth and sincerity, shaking his hand. He then began gathering up the diary and hastily rolling it back into the brown paper. "I'm afraid I must return to Headquarters; I'll have to give you a proper welcome into the Order another day."
Five pairs of eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Something good in the works?" asked Ron.
Lupin's face softened into a rare and tender smile. "Indeed, Ron, but not what you think. Adora and I are making wedding plans." With a wink and a pinch of Floo powder, he was gone.
The events of the day perked Harry up enough to spend the afternoon in the common room, but by dinnertime, the energy had drained away again. Against the protests of his friends, he asked Dobby to bring him a supper tray. Alone in his dormitory, he fed most of it to Fawkes. The phoenix glared at him, but reluctantly accepted the food. Harry got the impression that Fawkes would much rather see him eat it, but complied with the deception out of pure loyalty. "It's all right, Fawkes," he said when his familiar shoved a chunk of roast beef back toward him with his beak. "I'll try to have something later, when I'm hungry."
There were times, over the next few weeks, when Harry felt hungry, and he usually managed to put away a few bites of fruit or bread-and-butter when those moments came along. Mostly he felt vaguely sick to his stomach. Though tired all the time, he slept little, but made a point of turning out his light well before Ron came to bed. Night after night, he lay in the dark, thinking about Tura and Dumbledore, murder and fate.
He got up dutifully in the morning and went to classes, with the exception of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Ron mentioned that they were working on resisting the Imperius Curse, something Harry had already mastered. He muddled through most of his homework and, if his stomach permitted it, occasionally went down to the Great Hall at mealtimes. He held Quidditch practice, though his heart was miles away from the game and his gaze kept straying to the area of Tura's sleeping porch. The cold weather gave the entire team watery eyes as they practiced, for which Harry was truly grateful. When he lost the Snitch to the Ravenclaw seeker in their next match, however, Viktor Krum met him at the exit of the changing room with a determined look in his eye.
"Come," Krum said bluntly, turning on his heel and striding briskly for the front gates of Hogwarts. Harry had to trot to keep up.
"Where are we going?"
"Headquarters," Krum said, equally bluntly.
"What's happening?" said Harry, stopping in his tracks, but Viktor said nothing, just waved him along impatiently without even looking back. Harry swore under his breath, then charged through the snow after his bodyguard.
Once outside the Hogwarts grounds, they Apparated to Grimmauld Place, which looked as unperturbed as ever. Harry's first thought was that there had been an attack, so the everyday appearance gave him a rush of relief, but as soon as the front door swung open, his hackles rose anew. Lupin, Tonks, Hagrid, Sirius, a gaggle of Weasleys, and even Professor McGonagall lined the foyer, and Viktor tipped his head to them in greeting without a hint of surprise. Oh, no, Harry thought. Hauling him into an unannounced meetings was not the Order's style; he had a bad feeling that he would have refused to attend if he'd known in advance.
They filed quietly past the sleeping portraits in the hallway and proceeded to the drawing room. When Harry saw that the chairs were arranged into a circle, he knew he was about to be grilled. Sirius put an arm around his shoulder and steered him to the loveseat, sitting down beside him without letting go.
McGonagall and Lupin exchanged a few glances, then she spoke. "I'm sure you're wondering what this is all about, Mr. Potter." He let his shoulders sag and looked her in the eye to read her foremost thoughts. Though he was quite sure he didn't need to bother, he did the same to all present.
"You're afraid," he said resignedly. "You've noticed I've been acting different, and you think I'm finally falling apart from the strain."
Sirius squeezed his shoulder tightly. "Not as bad as all that, Harry," he said. "The Order can only stand one of us moping about in despair at a given time, you know. And I'm currently holding that position."
One of the Weasley twins added, "Besides, you're practically our mascot. People will lose faith in their Wizarding Wheezes if you stop smiling."
Harry had to smirk at that; he'd refused to be the poster boy for Scrimgeour, but Fred and George naturally hadn't given him that choice. Several of the others bowed their heads to hide a grin, but McGonagall flattened her lips and plowed onward in a more serious tone.
"You are acting strangely, Mr. Potter. You've skipped meals and classes, and your homework has fallen from its usual standards. I understand you are rarely seen even in the common room of Gryffindor House. And today..." She hesitated, flattening her lips in an obvious attempt to phrase herself carefully.
Viktor, however, took the opportunity to finish for her. "You let an easy vin slip avay from you, Harry." He waggled his finger at Harry as one might chastise a puppy who piddled on the rug.
Funny, that the issues of his mood, homework, or eating induced him to bristle defensively, but the Quidditch loss made him hang his head in regret. "My form's off," he mumbled.
Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes, apparently noticing the relative importance of the Quidditch match. "Is there something we should know, Mr. Potter?"
Absolutely not, he thought, but said only, "No."
McGonagall's eyes narrowed in her coldest Headmistress's glare, making Harry squirm uncomfortably in his seat. "I want you to think about your answer, Mr. Potter," she began, in her most clipped, precise tone. "We have summoned you here today out of concern for you--and not just ours, but that of your friends and roommates at Hogwarts. They are beginning to fear for your health and safety."
"We in this room are uniquely aware of the pressure you are under." She paused to indicate the others in the room with her hands. Harry glanced around as each of them nodded or grinned at him. "We are also very fond of you, Harry," she added in a kinder tone. "We are all willing to help you--you need but ask."
Again she paused, then set her jaw. "You will be staying here with your godfather for a few days, until he and Mr. Lupin are satisfied that you are eating again. I would encourage you to look around this room, Mr. Potter, and take note of all the people in whom you might confide. I know you often seek counsel from Miss Granger and Ron Weasley, but in this instance, they are out of their league and do not know what to do. Please do not make the mistake of assuming that, because your very best friends are unable to help you, no one can."
She ended her speech with a prim little sniff, then came over to Harry and gave him a tiny kiss on the cheek. "You may certainly Floo me in my office or my quarters any time, Mr. Potter, if you wish to speak," she said quietly as the others began to rise, then departed through the fireplace.
Bill, Arthur, and Molly Weasley bid their adieus next. Mrs. Weasley had tears in her eyes. "I'm going to come here every meal and cook for you, Harry, get you back on your feet. You're as thin as your broomstick, love." She, too, kissed his cheek. Bill dropped to one knee briefly to remind him that he was the Bonder at their wedding and would always be part of their family. By the time they turned to go, Harry wished he had a huge black bag to put over his head.
Hagrid, thankfully, came off as his usual self, mussing Harry's hair with an oversized hand and grinning cheerfully. "Door's always open, Harry, yeh know tha'," he said. "Fang'd love it if yeh'd come by, too. He's a surprisin' good listener."
Fred and George invited him to visit the shop, and Lupin and Tonks affirmed that he could speak to them anytime. Viktor said nothing, but shook Harry's hand warmly and pulled the drawing room door shut behind him as he departed. Harry was left with Sirius, whose arm had never left his shoulder. The two of them sat watching the fire burn for a long time.
"Shall we talk tonight or tomorrow?" said Sirius at last.
Harry let his head fall forward, stretching his taut neck. "Maybe later, all right? Let me think of how to say it."
"Fair enough," Sirius said, then kissed him on the temple. "I wasn't much of a father to you, Harry, but I do make a pretty good friend."
Who'd have known I'd ever wish for fewer friends, Harry mused.
He woke the next morning and managed to put away a scone for Mrs. Weasley, who was quite serious about her resolution to fatten him back up. Other than that, however, the Order went about its business as usual, for which Harry was profoundly grateful; he didn't know how many kindly smiles or sympathetic glances he could stand. He finally rousted Viktor out from behind the sports section of the Prophet and Flooed over to the Ministry. As long as he was stuck in London, he might as well check in on Percy.
The reception witch on Level One kept them waiting in the lobby for nearly an hour before she finally authorized them to come up to the floor. Viktor smirked, muttering something about "bureaucrat's revenge," but didn't give her so much as a glance as they passed her desk. Percy threw open the door when they were halfway down the corridor, motioning them to hurry inside.
"Great Mother of Merlin, Harry, it's like an avalanche, but worse," said Percy as he reset the wards on his door. Mrs. Weasley had obviously been fattening him up as well, and he looked somewhat better rested, but he still twitched nervously at every little sound or movement. He bustled them over to his desk, which was covered with stacks of parchment; a huge diagram of names, dates, and reference numbers covered the wall behind him.
"I'm beginning to feel like the more I look, the less I know!" he exclaimed, trying ineffectively to shove a stack to one side, then quickly giving up--there was simply no way to clear a space on his desk, at least without a wand or a flamethrower. "I'm no closer to solving the Azkaban issue than I was two months ago. Father put some Aurors to work on it--I gather they're also in the Order--but we've had to keep it hush-hush."
"They tried to suss out the traitor last week when the monthly supply cargo was sent to Azkaban. Unfortunately, practically everything's been automated--ordering, billing--it's supposed to be checked by hand, but nothing's changed in hundreds of years, and even if there's a mistake, no one from Azkaban ever complains. If my hands weren't tied by the need for secrecy, I could practically fill this office with quills that have been enchanted to mark up various forms (in triplicate). It's no wonder I see people loitering about the coffee service all day--I'm beginning to wonder if anyone actually works here!"
Viktor laughed aloud, then apologized. After pausing to give Krum a brief, quizzical look, Percy continued. "They followed the supply shipment all the way to the North Sea and waited to see what would happen. After the ship left, some sort of Portkey went off on the dock, and all of the goods were gone. It must have been set for a certain time, but no one knows how it transported the cargo without taking the dock upon which it sat; normally Portkeys only work on wizards, anyway!"
"Great," sneered Harry. "We've not only sent the Dark Army its soldiers, we're supplying their food as well."
"And if we stop sending cargo, they'll know we've caught on," said Percy. "Morgan le Fay, I'm glad I'm not in charge of that decision. I'm not sure what poor Father's going to do. We can't even poison the supplies--I'm sure they test them on their own prisoners before eating them. What a calamity."
Percy stopped and threw his hands in the air. "And of course, that's but one sidebar of my investigation of Sirius Black. And all the others are the same way; the whole case is a textbook example of obfuscation! I still have no proof that Pettigrew is alive. His parents believe him dead, and when I asked if they had any knowledge of him being an unregistered Animagus, his lunatic aunt began pelting me with biscuits and had to be restrained! I've officially exhausted the parchment trail in this building regarding Black's sentencing; not one single form remains. I gather you've had no better luck in the attic at Black's former home?"
Harry shook his head. "I suppose they didn't routinely send a copy home for the prisoner as a memento. But there are some... locked and warded places I'm still trying to open."
Percy cocked his head. "Hmph! You might ask Bill over to help you; he's a curse-breaker, after all."
"I might do that," Harry answered, but doubted Bill's experience with Gringotts vaults would get him very far in Sirius's mind.
Percy put his hand on another stack of parchment. "And then there's this, Harry. Naturally, I tried to backtrack to the events leading up to Black's arrest. This stack alone contains sufficient material to send a dozen heads rolling, and yet it's laughable, compared to the rest of this disaster. Although you probably won't think it's nearly so funny, Harry." He sat up a bit straighter with that gleam of insight, and so did Harry.
"Tell me," he said firmly, locking his gaze with Percy's in case he refused.
Percy opened and closed his mouth a few times, then swallowed hard. "All right," he said uneasily. "I know I can trust you." The look in his eyes revealed the unspoken conclusion that he understood quite well that Harry would take it if it were not freely given.
"One of the last sightings of Black prior to his arrest was at... Godric's Hollow," Percy began, eyeing Harry nervously as he named the Potters' family home. "This was according to Hagrid, of course--he told Mr. Fudge years ago that he and Black both arrived at the Hollow that Halloween night, and left before the authorities arrived. He refused to talk about it with me himself, you know. Knowing as I do how Hagrid tends to go on about things, that came as quite a shock. At any rate, Mr. Fudge recalled it quite well--that Hagrid found Black at the scene in hysterics and attempted to comfort the fellow, then departed with the infant... that is, with you.
"I thought I'd see if there was any mention of this story in the Prophet at the time." He paused, removed his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. "Well," he continued, "didn't that open a new can of worms! Imagine my surprise, Harry, to find headlines like, 'Boy Who Lived at Ministry! Photos Tomorrow!' Hagrid may not be the brightest candle in the chandelier, but I just don't see him playing coy with the Ministry OR scheduling a photo shoot!"
Percy sighed heavily. "Just what I need. Another mystery. All I wanted to do was find out if anyone else saw Black in Godric's Hollow, and I got another conspiracy. This time, the records of the incident were certainly destroyed in the raid last summer; they were all stored on Level 2, in the Auror's files."
Harry nodded. He had seen the devastation in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement himself; there was no hope of finding the original Auror's reports about Godric's Hollow. Percy continued. "Once again, it's back to witnesses. I don't dare interview anyone who works for the Prophet; I think the only reason I'm still alive is that this investigation has been kept secret. But I did manage a bit of snooping, tracked down a retired photographer and such. I can't prove it, but it seems that the Ministry had obtained a different baby, whom they were touting as the Boy Who Lived."
"Interesting," said Harry, keeping his face neutral.
"I'll say! From what I gather, another Ministry employee complained that he'd seen the Potter's child and this other baby was a hoax. I'd give anything to track that one down for an interview, but obviously that was quite an embarassment at the time and was kept quiet. Dumbledore confirmed that the child... that is, you had indeed lived, and they quietly swept this other baby under the rug, so to speak."
"Any idea where the other boy came from?" said Harry, trying desperately not to laugh. The image of Percy discussing this "mystery employee" with his dad was just too much.
"Could be anyone, obviously," sighed Percy. "There weren't any lost or kidnapped children reported in London at that time, but Merlin-only-knows they could have procured the babe anywhere, even from Muggles. The official explanation is that the baby was recovered by the Aurors from Godric's Hollow, but no one seems to remember who found him or who brought him in."
"I'll bet they don't--but I bet all of them have a vague memory of someone taking care of it," Harry mused. "An implant of something that never happened." He looked at Viktor, who gave him the slightest nod. "I think I'd like to interview some of these Aurors, Percy. Maybe the person who implanted the memory got careless, left behind a clue."
"Now just hold on a moment!" said Percy. "You can't go around interrogating people! They wouldn't even speak to you, Harry, you've no authority here. Not to mention I may as well kiss goodbye any hope of keeping my investigation a secret. It has to be me; I'm the only one that can pull it off." He squared his shoulders, not with pride, but resolution. "And maybe some help from the Order," he added a bit plaintively.
Harry caught himself in the act of protesting, opting instead for a dry smile. "Well, Percy," he said, "that summarized all my years at Hogwarts quite nicely." Grinning more broadly, he picked up the nearest quill and tapped Percy on each shoulder. "I dub thee an Official Flouter of Dark Wizards."
Percy glared over his glasses. "Thanks, Potter. If I survive, we'll have to get matching jackets."
Harry Potter and the Heirs of Slytherin by fawkes_07
Chapter Notes: Summary: Recent events take a heavy toll on Harry.
Nonetheless, a few nagging mysteries get solved.
A/N: Deathly Hallows came out this weekend, and after reading 1.5 chapters, I've decided to put it aside until I finish this fic. I don't want to contaminate my story arc with Rowling's, and I know I'll get them mixed up if I read hers.
My son actually won a free copy of DH at the release party we attended, of which he's very proud. He's started reading it, but to my delight, continues to refer to it as "the Other Book Seven." From what little of DH that I read, I like mine better, but then, I'm biased.
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