Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.
The plot is of my own invention.
“Let’s go back to town, hopefully Stan hasn’t sent out a search team for us by now.” Feeling totally drained and not a little depressed, Max Diggory led Harry and Diane back to the camp entrance hidden behind the invisibility cloak. With the gates closed and locked, they each Apparated to a spot a few meters away to get their bearings and then proceeded to the Polish Ministry.
As Diggory suspected, Porgizelski was waiting for their return with a small group of irritated looking coworkers.
“Ah, Max, you’ve returned, and unharmed.” Their Polish contact turned to his fellow countrymen and spoke a few words in their native language. A couple gave their English counterparts nasty stares before Apparating away. Porgizelski turned back to his guests. “Now, please come in. I suspect you found something or you would have returned earlier, no?”
Max tried to sweet-talk his way out, explaining they were tired and hungry, but Porgizelski insisted they speak. The three followed their host to his office where he locked the door and cast a privacy spell. “Now, my tardy friends, what have you discovered?”
Diane and Harry immediately turned to Max with a hopeful look on their face.
“Ahem, Stan, we did come across evidence of Grindelwald in the Birkineau sub-camp, but we had to wait until all the visitors left before entering the structure.”
Porgizelski nodded his head warily, accepting Diggory’s word, for now. “And what exactly did you find?”
“I don’t suppose you would take my word that it would be best if we left out details, would you?” He gave Porgizelski a weak smile. Harry looked away, scratching his chin; Diane feigned disinterest.
Porgizelski looked at them gravely for a long minute. “You are aware of the treaty between our country and the Allied powers at the end of the war, aren’t you?”
Diggory nodded.
Porgizelski recited a section of the treaty. “…all artifacts dealing with the conduct of the Axis belligerents between September 1939 and June 1945 are the property of the Polish Ministry of Magic until released for public viewing.”
“These, er, items, Stan, must never be released to the public,” Max said determinedly, looking directly at Porgizelski.
Porgizelski nodded. “I suspected as much. So we have a little problem, don’t we?”
“I don’t suppose you would consider a bribe?” Diane asked facetiously. Porgizelski and Diggory both shot her an irritated look.
“No, Ms. Bradley, but what I can do is this.” Porgizelski proceeded to outline a plan he had used on a number of occasions in the past. It involved moving the ‘artifacts’ to a safe location, in Poland, where a joint team of English and Polish Ministry officials viewed them together.
Max looked at Harry and Diane, both shrugged their shoulders as if to say, what else can we do… legally?
“Stan, I have to inform you that the items we discovered are so profoundly… evil they can never become public knowledge, and they should never even come into contact with either the Polish or English Ministries.”
This made Porgizelski wary. “But are you not here on orders of your Ministry of Magic, Mr. Diggory?” The tone of voice Porgizelski used in this question clearly showed he was becoming irritated with his guests.
“No, erm, Stan. Hold on, hold on,” Diggory pleaded, seeing the Pole’s anger. “I do work for the Ministry, that’s true, but I am not here as their representative…”
“Then whose?” Porgizelski asked, angrier still.
“We, Harry and I, belong to a somewhat secret organization known as the Order of the Phoenix, it was founded about twenty years ago by Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore.”
Hearing this, Porgizelski appeared to relax a tad. He was no longer tapping the palm of his hand with his wand. Max paused until Porgizelski nodded at Diane. “And Ms. Bradley?”
“I’m just along for the ride, Mr. Porgizelski,” Diane said.
“No she isn’t, Stan, she’s with us for another reason. Her magical abilities are far stronger than mine and Harry’s. We thought we could use her if we ran into trouble.”
“Very well.” Porgizelski again nodded thoughtfully and sat silent. At one point Harry thought he was falling asleep. Finally he made his decision.
“What is the volume of items you need to look at?”
“About forty wooden crates about so big,” Diggory approximated the dimensions with his hands, “holding papers. Another hundred and fifty smaller boxes containing glass bottles.”
Porgizelski stood and walked to a map behind him and appeared to be considering a location. Then he tapped the map with his wand. “Here, just a hundred kilometers away in Zory. We have a small facility we can use. You will now take me to these items so I can arrange transport.” Whatever friendly demeanor Porgizelski had shown earlier was again gone and his tone was business-like.
Wearily the three visitors rose and led Porgizelski back to the camp. But they were not disappointed, Porgizelski kept his word and by six in the morning all the items had been moved as he had promised. Diggory sent Harry and Diane off to get some sleep while he dozed next to their treasure, but his dreams were troubled and he slept fitfully.
Per the agreement the day before, Max, Harry and Diane met again early that evening with Porgizelski, who had named himself as the Polish representative, and began to catalog the contents of the boxes and crates. It was boring, tedious work, but didn’t take long as the crates of written material corresponded exactly with the boxes of glass. The process was finished by ten that night and the following morning, Friday, Charlie arrived to help with translating the reams of Grindelwald’s notes.
It was then that Porgizelski first realized why his English visitors were so secretive about their find.
“I heard of the Horcrux story from your Ministry’s investigations but I had no idea it was this… terrible Forgive me for doubting you,” their host said sincerely, bowing.
“Not a problem, Stan, but you might as well know the rest of our story,” Diggory said. Then he proceeded to explain, with amazing clarity and detail, the story of the Horcruxes from Grindelwald to Voldemort to Bill Weasley. Porgizelski’s face darkened and more than once his eyes looked watery. Harry tried to ignore the sad looks he received but it was difficult. When Charlie finished, the short Pole stood and walked over to Harry, who was talking with Diane, and embraced him.
“You are a hero!” he said, his voice choking. Then he said something very unexpected, something very interesting, something very shocking. “But why are you worried about Voldemort? He is gone “ gone for good, no?”
“No, Stan,” Max started to explain again. “When Bill destroyed the snake Horcrux he did not know how to do it properly. The fragment of Voldemort’s soul within it fled the snake and entered Bill.”
But the Pole shook his head stubbornly. “No, it could not have.”
“Aw, for Merlin’s sake,” Charlie said exasperatedly, “it did. Harry can sense it, Bill can feel it.”
But Porgizelski persisted. “No, I think not.”
Charlie threw down some notes he was holding and left the storage room in a huff. Max looked irritated with Stan, Diane was watching the discussion, but Harry was sitting shaking his head. “He might be right.”
“WHAT?” Max exclaimed.
Porgizelski beamed. “Yes, see, Harry knows!”
“Knows what? Harry, what is this?”
“I’m not sure, exactly, not yet at least. But I am sure, now, that Voldemort is dead, for good…”
Now Max exploded. “HARRY, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? Then what are we…”
“…but we still need to help Bill.”
“WHAT? Oh, yes, of course. But why are you so certain now?”
The shouting match could be heard outside the room and drew Charlie back in. He still looked aggravated but was paying attention to Harry, Max and Stan. The calming voice of Diane quieted the room.
“Harry and Stan are right, Max. We all should have seen this months ago. If Voldemort wasn’t truly dead his Death Eaters would not have lost their arms. That’s the key. Their Death Mark was tied to Voldy’s life, with him gone for good the magic he placed on each did its damage. Whatever it is inside Bill Weasley’s head is not Voldemort.”
“But-but if it came from the snake, it has to be! Nagini was the last unexpended Horcrux before Voldemort himself,” Charlie pointed out.
“Yeah, but you only have Martin’s word that the Dimidium Curse worked the way he said it did.”
“He wouldn’t have lied, Diane. He had no reason to. He gave his life trying to destroy the tosser.”
“Ok, ok, you may be right. But the facts stand: one, something’s inside Bill’s head; two, it’s not Voldemort; three, it came from the snake; four, well, I guess there are only three facts.” Diane blushed and went back to buffing her nails.
“Harry, the snake was the last Horcrux created, right? Ok. And it was created after Voldemort returned, correct? Do we know when?”
“No, we just think it was that bloke, Frank Bice or Brice, sometime before my forth year.”
“Do we know who was…? Wait a minute. How could he have done it before your forth year, he wasn’t resurrected yet?”
Harry looked stunned for a moment and then sat, obviously in thought. “Before the re-birthing he was this small, baby-like creature. That’s what Wormtail threw into the cauldron.” Harry saw Diane shiver at the description. “He must have gone through some partial re-birth before that night; he did have a body.”
“Ok, Harry. It sounds like he was able to do some magic then. Who was with him when the snake became a Horcrux?”
“Pettigrew and Barty Crouch, Jr., they’re the only ones we know of, based on what Crouch told us after Dumbledore gave him Veritaserum.”
“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Max griped. “It must be Voldemort. Why else would he put a piece of Pettigrew’s or Crouch’s soul into it? And they, not Voldemort, would have had to kill the poor bugger, too, for the transfer to work. That wasn’t what Barty Crouch said, right?”
Harry nodded and a puzzled hush came over the room for a few minutes. The only sound was Harry slapping Diane’s hand when she wouldn’t stop flicking her finger on his arm, a nervous habit she had.
Charlie finally broke the silence. “How about this: Voldemort cast the killing curse, therefore he had to be the one sending a fragment of his soul. Anyone disagree? Good. But what if it wasn’t his soul he sent?”
“It has to be, Charlie,” Diggory protested.
“Hang on, Max. Yes, it has to be his soul he split…but does it have to be his soul he sent into the snake?”
Everyone sat in bewildered silence for a few seconds, then Diane broke it, “Holy shitake mushrooms!”
“My virgin ears,” Harry muttered, placing his hands mockingly on either side of his head. Diane started flicking him again.
“Who’s soul would he have sent, Charlie? I mean… oh,” Max Diggory’s face lit up with understanding.
Stan and Charlie both pointed to the crates but it was Harry that responded to the question. “The answer’s probably in there, but Grindelwald is a safe bet.”
“Grindelwald? How did they come to that conclusion, Arthur?”
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were sitting in the garden with Ron, Hermione and Ginny; Ankaa had appeared a few minutes earlier carrying Harry’s message. Mr. Weasley read the rest of the letter answering the question.
“Harry told me that when he sensed the presence in Bill it was weak and distorted. I guess he just assumed it was Voldemort,” Ginny said.
Hermione and Ron, sitting in separate garden chairs, both looked ill. “At least with V-Voldemort we knew what we were facing,” Ron mumbled.
Hermione reached over and took his hand reassuringly. “We’ll find a way to help Bill, don’t worry.” She made to let go of his hand but Ron tightened his grip. Ginny noticed the interaction but said nothing.
“I’m going to Floo Bill and Fleur,” Mr. Weasley said, rising and heading to the house.
“Arthur, dear, it’s so late. This can wait until tomorrow, can’t it?”
“Oh, I suppose so. It really doesn’t change anything. In the end we still have to get rid of the fragment, whether it’s Voldemort or Grindelwald.” Molly nodded silently. Arthur returned to his chair. “I have an interesting story for all of you,” he said, glancing to his wife.
Ron looked up and smiled at his father. “That sounds great, dad. Did you arrest Fudge, or something equally first-rate?”
“No, this is along the lines of our wonderful judicial system.” Everyone groaned. “This morning, Snodgrass and Twittle filed a class-action suit against the Ministry on behalf of nearly all the Death Eaters we have in custody. It seems they feel their right to due process was denied by Voldemort’s death.” Mr. Weasley let the thought hang for a few seconds and was rewarded with three looks of confusion. “Yes, I felt the same way, too. Here’s their logic: Dismemberment is not allowable under our laws; they correctly claim it’s ‘cruel and unusual punishment.’ And I suppose I agree, but here’s the rub: they claim that by our actions, whether intentional or not, we have inflicted this punishment upon them without due process. Now this really was too much! When I heard this I set off to see the Minister but he’d already received the news.”
Hermione was the first to speak up. “You are joshing us, Mr. Weasley, aren’t you?”
Arthur shook his head sadly. “No, Hermione, I’m afraid not. And that’s not all. The Minister has instructed the Wizengamot to conduct a full hearing.”
“Dad, NO!” Ginny shouted at her father. “You can’t allow this.”
“My dear, what can I do? Marcus is a fine Minister, except that he tries to gratify everyone. Oh, his intentions are good, of that I’m certain. But I agree, this is very bad.”
“Why daddy?” Ginny moaned, though it was not directed to Mr. Weasley.
“Because they might have a case, though I’m not so sure they directed it to the correct party.” Mr. Weasley’s face took on a grave appearance.
“What do you mean, dad?”
“Because, Ron, they would have a better foundation if they had directed the suit at Harry.”
Ginny, Hermione and Ron all shouted together. “NO!”
“But that isn’t what they’re doing, is it, Arthur.” Mrs. Weasley’s comment was just that, a comment, not a question.
“No, Molly, thankfully, though I’m certain they will include him in some fashion, most likely as a witness.” Mrs. Weasley sighed in relief, though the others still bore skeptical expressions. “I did speak with some fellows I know in the Legal branch of the Ministry and they are confident of a not guilty verdict…” Arthur trailed off, clearly this was not the only thing they had said to him.
“What is it, dad?” Ron asked.
“This is being brought up in civil court, after the criminal court is finished. The burden of proof is much lower there. And…this could tie up the plaintiffs’ assets while the trial is playing out. But that’s the Minister’s worry, not ours.”
Sighing, Mr. Weasley held up his hand when Ginny started to ask another question. “I’m sorry, I really must turn in. Good night everyone. Molly?” Holding out his hand, Mrs. Weasley took it and left the room with her husband.
“Blimey,” Ron said quietly. “Dad looks tired, like I’ve never seen him.”
“Look, Harry, you and Diane spent your entire holiday with this mess. Let me and Bill finish up here with Stan and Max.”
Saturday morning had brought Bill to Poland to join his brother and the others. Tired and cranky, neither Harry nor Diane protested the suggestion. A half-hour later, packed and finished thanking their host, they returned to England and the quiet comfort of the Burrow. Harry could hear Ginny talking to her mother through the open kitchen window. Their conversation sounded lively.
“Harry, I’m going to head back to Hogwarts, I have some work to finish. Would you give Mrs. Weasley my apologies?”
Before Harry could answer the surprise question, Ankaa appeared between Harry and Diane. Assuming the Phoenix was there to great him, Harry reached down, but the magical bird sprang up onto Diane’s arm and both disappeared in a flash of red and gold fire leaving Harry flabbergasted. Apart from Ginny, Ankaa had shown little affinity to any of his other friends, even Ron and Hermione.
“Harry!” he heard Ginny cry out. Turning he saw her running out the door and into his arms. After a more personal and appropriate greeting, Ginny looked about. “Did I hear you talking to Di a moment ago?”
“Er”yeah, she, eh, went back to school…with Ankaa.”
“Oh, that’s odd, she was supposed to meet with Hermione and me. I guess we’ll see her tomorrow.” Taking Harry’s hand, Ginny led him into the house. Ron and Hermione were sitting next to each other at the kitchen table, looking happy, their hands entwined but out of sight.
“Harry!” Hermione shouted. Jumping up she ran over and hugged him. “How did it go? Did you find anything?”
“Crikey, Hermione, give the guy a chance.”
“Harry, welcome back,” Mrs. Weasley said with a more serene tone than he’d heard from her in a while.
“Er ” hi everyone.” Sitting down with Ginny, Harry related more of the details from the past few days and the progress they were making. All listened closely, Mrs. Weasley most of all. And even though they had not yet found anything to help Bill, Mrs. Weasley was obviously pleased with the efforts.
“That’s wonderful, Harry, dear. We all appreciate what you’re doing. By the way, I expect a visit from…” Before she could finish, a soft pop announced the arrival of Remus Lupin; he entered the kitchen looking tired and worn from his last transformation.
“Hello, Harry,” Lupin said first, “how are things going in Poland?”
Harry gave the short version of their trip and what Charlie and Bill were currently working on. Lupin listened attentively as he sipped from the mug of tea Mrs. Weasley had given him.
“Excellent. Say, what’s Diane up to? I just saw her in the library at Grimmauld Place. Is she working on a project?”
“Not that I know about. I thought she was headed back to Hogwarts.”
“She is, she just asked to borrow some books. She was with Ankaa, too.”
That caught Hermione’s attention. “Ankaa? Why is he with her, Harry?”
“No idea, but Fawkes would come to me some times when I needed something.”
Conversation carried on for a while until Lupin reminded Harry that he needed to visit his vault at Gringotts before returning to school. Harry had forgotten about this nagging duty but accepted.
“Mrs. Weasley, would it be alright if Ginny came, too?” Harry asked.
“I have to stop at Diagon Alley for a couple things, mum,” she added.
“Surely, dear. Ron, Hermione? I suppose you will be wanting to go, too.”
“Oh, well, if Harry doesn’t mind us tagging along,” Hermione said, glancing at the Head Boy.
“No, not at all; let me get my vault key and we can go.”
It was the first time in almost a year that the foursome had been in the heart of Magical London, and Diagon Alley had gone through a transformation since the fall of Voldemort. New shops had opened, long-established ones had redecorated, and the Alley, which was more of a wide street, was filled with scores of visitors and even a few street vendors, something Mrs. Weasley had mentioned which had not been around since before the first war. Spring could be smelled in the air and it reminded Harry much of his first trip to the unique spot with Hagrid six and a half years earlier.
At Flourish & Blotts, Harry, Ginny and Lupin left Ron and Hermione who were looking for some odds and ends. When Harry glanced back at them to shout out a reminder to meet for lunch he was startled to see them holding hands. “When did this happen, Gin?” he asked, jerking his thumb at his friends.
“Just the other day, actually. Couldn’t get a word out of either of them but they sure are happier.”
Harry nodded. “I thought they looked cheerful this morning.”
After a brief initial meeting with the Potter and Black estates’ account manager, Griphook, Harry, Ginny and Remus rode the car to the new vault that combined the two fortunes. Passing the test that he was a Potter and the account owner, Harry and the others entered the massive chamber.
The Potter/Black vault was neatly organized into three distinct areas. To the immediate right of the entrance was the gold, silver and bronze coinage of the Wizarding world. The gold alone filled three large hoppers. To the left was shelf after shelf of ordinary items Harry assumed were family heirlooms, most looking worn and dusty. In the center of the room was a large double desk; Griphook had seated himself in the far chair and was pointing for Harry to take the other seat.
“Mr. Harry James Potter,” Griphook began solemnly, “As this is your first visit to your family vault after coming of age, it is my responsibility to make you aware of your assets.” As Harry read the document the Goblin had pushed to him across the desk, Ginny and Remus wandered off and rummaged through the shelves. “Mr. Potter, of course we are available to assist you in your financial matters twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, but please know you have other methods of accessing your funds.” Griphook opened a small case and handed over a green-feathered quill. “Any note you sign with that pen, when making purchases or transactions, will create a record here which we will balance with your account daily. It will work for no one but yourself and your legal spouse, when the situation arises. You will not be able to overdraw funds, either. Not that you have to worry about that.”
Harry thought he might have seen the Goblin attempt a smile, he wasn’t certain.
“You may now remove any and every item from the vault. And, of course, we will continue to guarantee the security of the vault’s contents as long as it remains at Gringotts. Please, take your time reviewing your account. I will remain here as long as you need me.”
With that, Griphook leaned back and appeared to go to sleep. Harry found this very odd and bowed over the desk eying the creature closely. Griphook opened his eyes and asked if he needed assistance; Harry quickly sat and began to review the document.
Expecting to face a complicated inventory, he was relieved to see that his assets and holdings were neatly and succinctly listed. So much in gold, silver, bronze, real estate, Institutional (Muggle and Magical) stocks, bonds and notes. An addendum listed the heirlooms and other items in the vault, though not in detail. There were notes concerning the trust on which he had lived for the past six-plus years and it’s inclusion into the estate the previous July. The only item he did not understand was a sizable amount set aside for an item listed as: “Class ‘D’ Funds. To revert to Potter family estate 1 January 2004, unless activated.”
While he was puzzling over that last item, Ginny returned with a number of books and scrolls. “Harry, these are all Potter family documents. Some of them look interesting; may I take them home to look at them?”
“Sure, Gin. Er…Griphook?” The Goblin’s eyes opened immediately. “Can you please send these back to the Weasley home in Devon?” Without a word, Griphook nodded and tapped the pile with his wand. The books and scrolls were instantly wrapped and then vanished.
“They will be waiting for the young lady when she returns home,” Griphook said.
Remus returned just then wearing the helmet from a suit of armor. “What do you think? Tonks might like to wear this for the wedding.” Laughing, Lupin removed the helmet and tossed it to Harry. He looked it over, noticing the large ‘P’ engraved on the right side.
“I guess that finishes up my business here. You two ready to go?” Harry asked Lupin and Ginny who were now getting silly over a small statue of a nude male. The name plate identified the person as a Julius Potter.
Back at the Burrow that evening, Lupin and Tonks joined the Weasleys and Harry for dinner. Mr. Weasley seemed in better spirits than he had been the previous evening. Mrs. Weasley also continued to be her ‘pre-Voldemort self,’ as Ron would occasionally call her. Following the meal, a letter arrived from Bill and Charlie; the news was encouraging.
Dear Mum and Dad,
Charlie and I spent the better part of the day translating one of the boxes of Grindelwald’s notes. It gives us a chill each time we read some personal note the old bastard wrote. It’s hard to imagine someone as bad, or worse than Voldemort, but here he is. I’ll tell you more about him later, first we have some news.
We have translated a number of references to ‘reversing the placement spell.’ We think this has to do with the original Dimidium Curse, which Grindelwald called simply a ‘Displacement Spell,’ the one that moves the soul from a living body to an object. As horrible as it is to read his notes and relive the experiments, it carries a dark fascination, too. One wonders what a wizard with his talent might have done had he worked for the good…
Through April and into early May, Bill and Charlie gave weekly updates on their research when they returned home for the weekends. Back at Hogwarts, Harry found it difficult to both concentrate on the Horcrux issue and prepare for exams. He, Hermione, Diane and Ron met each evening, sometimes far into the night, revising and preparing for the N.E.W.T.s. Ginny and Luna helped where they could but they had their own exams to prepare for. And the fact that this Spring was the finest in a century did little to lighten their moods. Ron and Hermione found little time to spend with each other outside of revising. Harry and Ginny were able to squeeze in a few more hours together, but it was an altogether frustrating time.
To his surprise, Harry found Fred Weasley at the Hogsmeade branch of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes much more frequently than earlier in the year. He wondered if Diane had anything to do with it but she volunteered no information and Harry was not interested in pressing her. His American friend had, outside of their studies, become almost unapproachable. Something was obviously bothering her and Harry suspected it might still have to do with Jason. The few times they talked and his name arose Diane would scowl and change the subject. When Harry asked Hermione about it she offered nothing he did not already know.
The situation with Diane’s apparent anxiety, however, fell out of the spotlight at the end of May when an unexpected letter from Bill announced that they had made some sort of breakthrough and were returning to England with Max Diggory. The entire extended Weasley family including Harry, Fleur, Aberforth and two of Mr. Weasley Ministry associates met at the Burrow just three weeks before N.E.W.T.s to hear their news.
The gathering began poorly when Bill and Charlie entered looking less than happy about their information. “Thanks for coming, everyone,” Bill began. “As this project we’ve been working on affects myself most directly I pulled rank on Charlie and told him I would present our information.”
“First the good news, if you can call anything to do with Horcruxes good. We found that Grindelwald and his assistant, a witch named Marie Voss, had indeed created the spell to remove a soul fragment from a Horcrux, though it was by accident, or luck, in our case.” Mrs. Weasley’s gasp was audible but Bill held up his hand. “They developed the Dimidium Curse over the course of six years and at the expense of almost three thousand lives.” With this fact the momentary delight of Bill’s audience was quickly squelched.
“That’s right. And the notes go into horrific details about how they tried and failed before the breakthrough in 1940. Apparently Tom Riddle wasn’t interested in making his earlier breakthroughs known to his fellow psychopaths. In any event, tearing a soul apart is a relatively easy process, as is the spell to place that fragment into a receptacle. By the end of 1940 that had been perfected and tested extensively. When Grindelwald presented this to Hitler he was ecstatic. But Grindelwald told the Fuehrer that since he was not a wizard he could not expect the Horcrux creation process to work correctly on him. As you can imagine, Hitler wasn’t very happy about this.”
“Grindelwald spent the next four years trying to make the Dimidium Curse work on a Muggle, but by the time he had made the breakthrough in mid-1944 he had fallen from Hitler’s favor.” Bill stopped for a moment and pointed to Charlie who stood and continued the story.
“In the summer of 1944, as we learned last year, Grindelwald was visited by Tom Riddle who had been performing his parallel work in England. They traded notes and by the time Riddle departed Grindelwald was close to perfecting the spell to move soul fragments between Muggles.”
“But what the young Tom Riddle did not know “ or perhaps he did but never told anyone “ was that Grindelwald had use him as a Guiney-pig for one of his final tests. Grindelwald transferred a piece of his soul from a previously created Horcrux into Riddle. Before returning to England and Hogwarts, Riddle had Grindelwald seal their pact for cheating death by creating the Coin Horcrux containing a fragment of both their souls. So Riddle returned, as we know, and continued creating his Horcruxes. We suspect that when he made the Snake a Horcrux it was Grindelwald’s soul that was implanted because there was so little remaining of his own. Grindelwald had some notes about ‘odd results’ when transferring badly deformed souls.”
“Are you saying that Riddle never did truly create six Horcruxes?” Hermione asked.
“Yes and no. He created six, but only five held parts of his soul,” Bill clarified.
“What about that spell to remove the soul fragment from a Horcrux. What did you find out about it?” Lupin asked. Bill stood to complete the story.
“When we read about it we couldn’t imagine how the bloody git ever came across it,” Bill said, scratching his head and pacing for a few seconds before continuing. “The force that actually tears the soul is the hate in the wizard casting the Killing Curse and his focus on taking the life of a person unwilling to otherwise surrender to death. According to Grindelwald’s notes, here’s what happens: at the moment of the victim’s murder, the soul of the caster is torn, according to the verbiage of the Dimidium Curse used, and actually begins the journey to death. The later part of the Dimidium Curse snatches that fragment and places it into the Horcrux. The energy that is the catalyst to move the soul, however, comes from the victim, not the caster. It’s their desire to stay alive that ultimately empowers the murderer to succeed in creating the Horcrux. I know, I know, it’s cockeyed, but that’s what the notes attest to.”
“So, to move a piece of a soul requires the unique life force energy of a person. In the case of creating a Horcrux, it is a murder. But in the action to remove the soul from a Horcrux “ a murder is not required.”
Bill looked up at his audience. Some faces looked relieved, others happy. But it was only Aberforth who understood what had just been implied.
“Then, Bill, can you have it removed?” his mother asked, her lip quivering.
“Well, yes, mother, but…” He couldn’t bring himself to say what he had to. But Aberforth could.
“Molly, in order for anyone to remove that fragment, someone must willingly sacrifice their life, and it’s Bill who must… kill them. That’s the only way to generate the strength and type of energy needed. Am I right?”
“That’s what we believe, Abe. A soul murdered creates a Horcrux, a soul willingly sacrificed destroys it,” Bill said. He refused to look up, but Fleur was already at his side and pulling him into herself.
“Non! Zair must be anozer way!” But he just shook his head. Fleur looked around the room frantically and found Harry. “Non! ‘Arry, you must do zomezing. You are a great weezard!”
Harry didn’t know what to say or do and Ginny’s grip on his hand had become painfully tight. He looked at Aberforth but his head was bowed.
“W-We still have time, Bill, don’t we?” asked Ron. “M-M-Maybe we can uncover something else…” The look on his brother’s face stopped any further comments.
“I have time, Ron, and…” Bill faltered.
“Bill,” Aberforth said abruptly, motioning for him to follow, “come with me.” The old wizard stood and led the eldest Weasley son out of the house, ignoring the questions being asked in their wake.
Two hours later Bill returned to the Weasley property. Apparating just outside the wards that protected his family home, he hunched down onto one knee and looked at the Burrow from a hundred meters away. He heard the sounds of life: an occasional clank of pots; Ron and Ginny shouting at the other; the twins pranking Percy and his mother shouting for them to behave. He also heard Fleur and many other voices; the family and friends that had been present earlier in the day had more than doubled. Through the hedge he saw the top of Minerva McGonagall’s hat.
Crookshanks startled him when the cat rubbed itself against his hip. “Hello, boy. Good kitty,” said Bill quietly, scratching under the cat’s chin.
Was it worth it? Bill wasn’t sure if he would ever know. His mother had told him once, years before, that she didn’t expect the family to come through the war unscathed. But they had been fortunate, for the most part. Ron had some scars and a slight limp. Charlie nearly died, twice, and will never be able to work with the wildest dragons again due to his reduced mobility. Percy nearly lost his family’s love. His father was greyer and more tired than he’d ever been. His only sister had been mentally raped and emotionally abused. And his mother would sometimes show a wild and frightened look even when things were calm. Then there were his own scars. No, his family had not lost any lives, but it had certainly paid a price for destroying pure evil.
Yet each of these sacrifices, and others, had strengthened the family integrity and drawn them closer together. His father was, at long last, a highly respected member of the Ministry of Magic and had the Minister’s ear. His mother would be able to, he was quite confident, soon claim one new son and two new daughters “ not to mention a grandson or daughter. Remus, Tonks, Diane and many others had helped fill in the terrible emptiness she knew from her brothers murders. Ron and Charlie had earned international recognition for their assistance to the French Ministry of Magical Affairs and both had wicked stories (and scars) to show for their efforts. Percy, the quiet, annoying brother, outdid all his siblings and faced down Voldemort like no one had ever done before. At least no one who survived. The twins, while not as active in the later stages of the war as they would have liked, helped keep everyone level and amused, even in the darkest hours. Ginny had been the calming influence on Harry that he needed. And Bill had gained enormous respect for Harry, especially in the past few months after Voldemort’s demise, as he continued to eagerly contribute to the safety of the Wizarding world.
The list went on, Bill knew. Albus Dumbledore was another, and even Snape who gave his life. The bastard was still a hook-nosed greasy git, but he had earned a measure of respect, too.
Bill thought again of the orphaned boy who was almost part of his family. More than virtually everyone he knew, Harry had paid for ridding the world of Lord Voldemort. He had his life, true, but sometimes he wondered about the quality of that life. Bill knew Harry had terrible nightmares, and that those were probably just the tip of his problems. He also had Ginny, that was obvious, and he’d come to approve completely of the match. It was at a terrible cost though: his parents, his Godfather, his mentor, one of his classmates…
Of all this, Bill wondered, was Harry’s loss of his family, even though he really never knew them, the deepest cut? Family was life to Bill Weasley and often he had heard Harry, and more so recently, wondering aloud about his parents. What would the future hold for a person so deeply injured?
Casting aside these troubling thoughts, it was time, Bill knew, to face his family. Harry would know immediately what had happened over the past two hours between him and Aberforth; there was no hiding it. Charlie, he was sure, would suspect. He stood and strode up to the house and entered the kitchen.
Seated in the parlor, twenty-three pairs of eyes and ears waited for Bill to speak, but it was Mrs. Weasley who began. “Where’s Aberforth, Bill?”
Placing on a table the Pensieve-like device Aberforth had used the previous summer to project memories at an Order meeting, Bill said nothing as he drew his wand, touched it to his temple, withdrew a memory and placed the glimmering strand of silver in the mechanism. The room magically darkened and a scene from earlier in the day appeared.
Aberforth had just exited the Burrow with Bill.
“Look, Bill, I haven’t much time left. Let me…”
“NO! I know what you’re going to say.”
“You’re as stubborn as a mule, Bill, just like the rest of your family. Now shut it and listen to me. I have only a few weeks, maybe a couple months to live. My heart is failing and Poppy’s potions no longer help. Let me save you, it really isn’t like you’d be taking something from me.”
“Abe, no, didn’t you hear what has to be done? I’d have to kill you, I couldn’t do it.”
“You could make my death mean something, Bill.”
“I’d be thrown in Azkaban. What about Fleur and the baby?”
“Bill, I’m willing to bet that you wouldn’t have to use the killing curse to finish me off, a good Stunner would take care of things nicely. And I have some other ideas about how to relieve you of guilt. It’s my choice, Bill, and it’s my love and respect for you and your family that will make this thing work.”
“But, Abe…”
“There are no ‘buts.’ You’re young, you’re starting a family, and quite honestly, this is another way for me to tell Voldemort “ or Grindelwald “ where to stick it.”
“Come on, son. I’ve said all I can say about this. I’m no great philosopher and to be honest, I feel quite ready for the next step in my life; the ‘next great adventure,’ as Albus used to call it. Run inside and tell your family you’ll be right back. We can Apparate to Hogsmeade before we, um, do it. I have a few things to take care of before…”
The room returned to normal. “That’s it?” Mr. Weasley asked.
Bill, rubbing his face, nodded. “All I remember after that is waking up in Hogsmeade in Abe’s flat. He was lying on his bed, d-dead. A note told me to come home and show you my most recent memories. Of course, I knew what had happened, but not the details.”
“He must have erased your memory using some sort of delayed-action spell,” Percy said quietly. “For all we know he might have also Imperioused you to force you to kill him.” He looked at his brother and his mouth turned up in one corner in a small smile. The meaning was plain: Bill didn’t know what had happened and no one was going to ask questions.
After a long and uncomfortable silence, Mrs. Weasley looked at her eldest son. “Then he’s gone? Grindelwald?”
“I wonder if evil that strong can ever be destroyed completely,” Mr. Weasley said stepping over to his son and placing his hand on his shoulder.
“No,” Bill responded quietly, “it can’t. He isn’t gone completely.” Reaching into his jacket pocket, Bill brought forth a small glass vial. “This was in my pocket when I awoke. It’s the last fragment of Grindelwald’s soul in existence “ I hope. It must have been part of what Abe had me do before he died. Charlie and I discovered that a soul fragment, taken from a person using the power of a life freely given, cannot be destroyed, only moved. Whether it’s a good or evil soul, you’re stuck with it.” He set the vial on the table. “I’ve placed every unbreakable and security spell on it I know, let’s just hope it’s enough.”
Sighing, Bill stood and walked from the shocked room; Fleur followed a moment later.
“N.E.W.T.s are only two weeks away, Harry! If Diane doesn’t show up we can’t take all night looking for her.” Hermione, obviously irritated with their American friend, paced in front of the hearth late Sunday afternoon. “When was the last time you checked the Marauder’s Map?”
“Five minutes ago, Hermione. She’s not here,” Harry snapped back in frustration. “And, yes, I know I have to report her absence to McGonagall.”
No one had seen Diane the entire weekend after Aberforth’s funeral. Ginny and Hermione found her bed un-slept in, and when Harry called for Ankaa the Phoenix did not come, an extraordinary occurrence. Harry had even snuck into Hogsmeade to see if she was visiting with Fred but he hadn’t seen her, either.
“I’m going to Owl Jason, maybe he’s heard from her.” After jotting out a brief note, Harry called for Hedwig; she flew into the window a moment later. When Harry told her where to deliver the letter she looked at him reproachfully, nipped his finger, and flew off in a huff. “Bloody bird,” the Head Boy grumbled.
“Sounding like Ron now?” Hermione asked playfully.
“Who’s sounding like me?” a voice hollered from Harry’s bedroom. Ron had taken to studying on the bed when Harry and Hermione were revising subjects he wasn’t taking.
“Nothing, love, go back to sleep,” Hermione replied lightly.
Harry looked at Hermione, his eyebrows raised. He mouthed ‘love?’ The bushy-haired witch blushed and turned back to her Transfiguration text.
More minutes passed and Harry was becoming increasingly annoyed with his suite-mate. Every few minutes she would glance at him, then the clock. The message was clear: tell McGonagall about Diane.
The clock struck six and Ron came back into the common room, yawning and scratching a days worth of growth on his chin. He walked to Hermione but a glance at Harry told him not to interrupt her. Too late.
“Harry, you have to tell her, Diane could be in trouble somewhere.”
“Er, yeah, I guess I better. You two head down to dinner, I’ll try to catch McGonagall at her office.”
Dreading the wrath of the Headmistress, Harry nonetheless hurried to her office so he wouldn’t have to give her the news in front of the students in the Great Hall at dinner. The password, Jubilee, gave him access to the spiral staircase and he knocked purposefully on the office door. It opened on its own.
“Mr. Potter, I’ve been wondering why you haven’t shown up. I assume you are here about Miss Bradley?”
“Yes, ma’am,” was all he was able to squeak out in reply.
“Harry, I hope you will learn not to put matters like this off to the last minute again.” McGonagall’s expression was strangely placid, almost happy. “Fortunately Miss Bradley is fine. I received a note from Jason Graham explaining her…situation.”
“She’s alright then? That’s good.”
“Yes, and no. She will be back tomorrow morning and I’ll let her explain everything to you.” The Headmistress again showed an odd expression before pointing to the door. As Harry left and the door was nearly shut he heard McGonagall utter a loud sigh.
“She’s in the States, McGonagall said,” Harry informed Ron, Hermione and Ginny at dinner that evening. “And she was acting odd.”
“How so, Harry?”
“I don’t know, Gin. More happy, perhaps.”
Ron nodded. “We’re all happy about Bill, maybe that’s it.”
“I agree,” Hermione said between bites of food. “We’ve had precious little to be happy about lately. Did she say anything else?”
“No, she wasn’t even mad at me for putting off telling her. I don’t know…”
Ron had been sitting back from the table listening to the conversation. Now he joined in. “You mean McGonagall has a pleasant side?”
Hermione slapped his arm playfully. “Of course she does, Ron. We can’t help it if Professor La Porte is the only instructor who likes you.”
“Well, she’d be nice to you if you’d give her the chance.” Ron leaned forward and took another bite of his dinner.
“I’d hate to be her sibling, if she has any,” Harry added. “And people brought up to be that snobby get it from their parents.”
Those sitting around Harry, when he made his last comment, were alarmed by the look on Ron’s face, and the fact that he nearly choked on his last bite of pork. “What did you say, Harry?”
He repeated his comment.
“Diane’s right, you really are dense some times,” Ron said mockingly, but no one knew why he was acting that way. When he saw the bewildered expressions on his friend’s faces he started laughing. “You lot really don’t know who Jackie is, do you?”
“Jackie? Didn’t know you were on so friendly terms with her,” Ginny said warily.
More blank expressions.
“Aw, Merlin…she’s Tré’s sister. You really didn’t know?”
Hermione’s mouth opened a bit, trying to respond; Harry and Ginny just blinked, shook their heads and glanced at the head table. They now knew why she looked familiar.
“Bugger!” Ginny said quietly.
Ron roared and attacked his dinner with renewed vigor.
“Well, Mr. Allen, what do you think of our proposal? It may take you years.”
“I don’t know how to respond, Mr. Prime Minister, all this goes to my head. I wont be able to publish it…ever, will I?” Blast shook his head no. “What about my contact here in London? He has all the concrete evidence.”
“He will have to have his memory erased, I’m afraid.” Digger Allen shook his head.
“He should be compensated in some way, he took a big risk working with me.”
“He will have no memory of the past few months with you. I’ve been assured by the Minister of Magic’s representative that he will be fine.”
“Oh really? ‘Fine’? Like I was when they wiped out my memory? I nearly died!” Allen related a part of the story the Prime Minister was unfamiliar with. When the story was finished he promised to see what other alternatives were available.
“Now, Mr. Allen, I have to meet with the Chancellor of the Exchequer, I must be off.”
Michael Allen was escorted from Downing Street to the hotel room where he had been sequestered for many weeks. It was quite nice, as hotel rooms go, and Allen had his meals paid for as well as any reasonable entertainment he might want. His new laptop was top-notch and he was able to access the internet freely, only his email was screened now and then. But Allen had no desire, at least not yet, to reveal his location and forfeit his comfortable lifestyle. He lived as a non-entity and carried a false name to allay suspicions. He could write whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, except during the hours of 9 o’clock and 11 o’clock each morning.
The previous morning, as with many others, the routine starting at 9 o’clock was the same. A knock announced the arrival of the next person he would interview. Sometimes the person would bring book or papers, often not. The guests sat and told their stories, richly filled with the most unbelievable situations and outcomes. But he truly was not surprised any longer. Each of his guests had a story to tell about their life. A few were persons of some importance in the Ministry of Magic, others were your simple every day wizards or witches. The previous week he had suffered through, of all things, a lecture by an old ghost named Binns. Two hours of that was enough to make Allen request a long weekend to recover.
But today was a special day for the former Muggle reporter “ as he’d been called numerous times by his interviewees “ today he would meet with the highest ranking member of the Ministry to date. The man, Allen again told himself, was not terrible significant, but what he would talk about was. He would finally have the chance to question someone about Harry Potter, and this man, supposedly, knew a great deal about him. Following weeks of pleading with the Prime Minister’s representatives, Michael Allen had been informed that the request to find information about the enigmatic wizard would be granted.
Nine o’clock approached painfully slowly. The reporter sat, trying to formulate questions. Just as the clock struck nine, a knock was heard on the door. Allen jumped up to let his guest in; he opened the door.
“Hello, I’m Arthur Weasley,” the tall man said pleasantly, extending his hand. “You must be Mr. Allen.”