Harold stared at the outstretched hand, while raising a contemptuous eyebrow. He glanced at the tired, dirty faces around him. A few shuffled guiltily, and Harry had the grace to look uncomfortable, as though the entire situation had unnerved him.. The looks he and Ginny exchanged had not escaped Harold’s notice, so the sympathy in her eyes was unsurprising. He acknowledged the sentiment with a nod.
“Do you honestly expect me to relinquish my only means of defense?” Harold asked. Ron’s eyes hardened slightly.
“You’re among friends,” Hermione said.
“Am I? If that were so, you would let me keep my wand.”
“Nothing personal,” Ron said. “But we don’t know you. Constant vigilence and all that.” There were nods all around. Harold studied the redhead. Crippled leg, hard jaded eyes masking a pain and anger burning to be unleashed. It reminded Harold of how his Ron had been before…Harold blinked the thought away. No use dwelling. He understood the man in front of him. Could trust him to be immutably Ron. The others though were twisted and distorted, even Hermione’s tired face felt wrong. He distrusted the similarities almost as much as the differences, but Ron was reassuring. Harold deliberately let the silence stretch awkwardly. He didn’t mind handing over his wand, having taken their measure and found them mostly harmless, but their reactions were…informative, and that’s what he was in desperate need of, information.
“Indeed,” he said at last. With a flick of his wrist, he was armed. He held his wand lightly, but a mere swish and flick from going on the offensive. He schooled his features so there was nothing in either his posture or his eyes that gave even the smallest hint of his intentions. Almost immediately every wand was trained on him. Experience had taught them to be careful, to curse first and ask questions later. It was better to apologize for an unnecessary action, then to die because you failed to act. Harold studied their stances, reading their style and skill. Slowly deliberately he moved to face his counterpart.
Harry was coiled and ready. His stance was that of one who relies more on speed and agility then raw power. Harold approved. Ginny, he noted, had taken an instinctive flanking position, ready to follow Harry’s lead. A good team in more ways than one. “Holly and phoenix feather,” Harold said suddenly. “11 inches. I present it to you to be its keeper in my stead. Take good care of it.” He offered it formally to his counterpart, bowing ever so slightly. Harry took the wand gingerly, as if in shock. He stared at it in awe, before turning his gaze to his other hand where rested the wand’s twin. He could feel the familiar surge of warmth. This was his wand.
“They’re identical,” Harry muttered. Harold nodded silently. He’d noticed that almost immediately. The Order exchanged glances. The purebloods among them had recognized the ancient ceremony that Harold had just enacted perfectly, albeit mockingly.
“Now that I have demonstrated a ridiculous amount of trust, ” he said, glaring slightly. “Perhaps it is time for you to return the favor. After all, as I understand it, you did summon me to be an ally.”
A wave of guilt seemed to pass through the Order, most of them anyway. Remus and Bill frowned. Apparently, they had noticed his little games. About time someone did, although Harold supposed it was all a matter of expectations. His counterpart seemed very Gryffindorish, so the Order was allowing preconceived notions color their observations. He idly wondered why Albus had permitted such a weakness to persist, but he could wait. Answers would come in time.
“I’m sorry.” Remus stepped forward with an apologetic smile. “We haven’t been very good hosts have we?” Something primal stirred behind his eyes. So the wolf wanted to play…
“Perfectly understandable.” Harold shrugged. “No point in holding grudges.” He reached into his coat and withdrew a small crumpled paper-bag. “Lemon drop?” he offered. His eyes twinkled brightly at Remus. This should prove to be most diverting.
Hermione Granger tossed her quill aside in frustration. Things were not progressing as quickly as she had hoped. While Ariana Dumbledore might be the foremost authority on blood magic, she was also frail and prone to exhaustion. Soon she would be joining her brothers on the next great adventure. Hermione had known the older woman almost her entire life. Being friends with the Boy Who Lived had opened doors to the most prestigious and gifted minds of the age, and little Hermione had not hesitated to make use of the opportunity. While Ariana wasn’t as powerful as her oldest brother, she was always willing to answer questions. There had been an incident long in her youth, which had left her psychologically unable to perform magic. Perhaps to compensate, Ariana had read and devoured information regarding every possible branch of magic, until her knowledge outstripped even that of her two brothers and of Grindelwald himself.
Hermione restrained herself from shaking Ariana awake. The old woman was clutching to life by a thread, and Harold would never forgive her, or himself, if this was what broke the thread. It was better to let Ariana sleep. Her mind would be more agile when she woke, but the delay was infuriating. Hermione did not possess Harold’s uncanny patience. Discovering the spell had been relatively easy. The burn marks left an unmistakable clue, and Ariana had immediately known where to look. Harold Potter had been snatched across dimensions, for unknown purposes, but to assume that those on the other side were friendly would be folly.
Members of the Phoenix Order, the Ehrengarde, and the Legion had already been assembled for a rescue operation. It was a small team but politics demanded that all three groups be represented. Unfortunately the spell she’d found would have to be cast each time a crossing was attempted. It was a long and laborious process, which was not practical in a combat situation. She had now spent several hours attempting to condense the ritual, but her grasp on magical theory was not quite equal to the task. There were too many variables to take into account, too many uncertainties. Perhaps if Grindelwald and Dumbledore were still alive, they might have been able to achieve it together. Hermione was the smartest witch of her generation, but that didn’t make her their equal. There had to be another way.
“A bridge.” Hermione frowned. Where had that come from? “A bridge,” Ariana repeated, and then began to cough weakly. “Don’t make a hole. Make a bridge.” Ariana smiled up at her. Hermione blinked in surprise. The idea had merit.
“By anchoring the breach on both ends,” Hermione whispered as magical formulas began swarming through her head. That was the spark she needed, the reason she’d visited Ariana on her sickbed. It was an idea so utterly Dumbledore. Now all she had to do was make it work
“The Dark Lord has control of everything,” Hermione said. “Rufus Scrimgeour makes some noise, but there’s nothing the Ministry can do.”
“Not that he’d do anything anyway,” Harry muttered. “Says he doesn’t approve of vigilante groups.” He snorted. “We’re the ones fighting. Where was he at Azkaban? Where was he at the Battle of Hogwarts? Won’t even send any Aurors. ”
Harold looked up from his plate, noting that the entire Order grouped around him, while he ate slowly. ”And the Ministry?” he asked lightly.
“In exile,” Hermione answered. Harold raised an eyebrow. “The fact is that Voldemort is Wizarding Britain. He’s set up a parliament of sorts, but Malfoy does little without his Lord’s permission.”
“You’re saying the war is over?” Harold’s tone was light, as if he were merely remarking upon the weather.
“We’re just an annoyance,” Ron said. “We fought the big battle, poured everything we had into Hogwarts, but it wasn’t enough. Most of the Order is dead now, or rotting in Azkaban. We still broadcast on the wireless, and make a few raids, but the snatchers are everywhere.”“Snatchers? What do these snatchers…snatch?” Harold asked.
“Muggle-borns mostly. Blood traitors, dissenters, and well…us.”
“Very efficient.”
“It’s horrible,” Hermione snapped. The visitor’s detached air was starting to annoy her. “They break the Muggle-borns' wands and send most of them to the labor camps.”
“And what of Voldemort?” Harold wiped his mouth daintily. “Does he still have his…advantages?”
“The Horcruxes?” Hermione asked. He nodded. “We destroyed four: the Diary, the Cup, the Locket and the…”
“Ring!” Harry cried. Ignoring the concerned glances, he pointed at Harold’s hand, which bore a large clumsy ring with a stone set in it. “I knew I’d seen it before. That’s a Horcrux.”
“It was,” Harold admitted.
“Why are you wearing it?” Harry demanded. The last time he’d seen it was on Dumbledore’s blackened finger.
Harold blinked, and for a brief moment he looked surprised. “Just a memento.” He recovered quickly all traces of surprise gone, and Harry could almost believe he’d imagined it. Almost. Remus was leaning forward slightly with a thoughtful frown. That was the first honest emotion Harold had showed so far, but why because of the ring? “So you lot have lost the war and now you want me to clean up your mess?” Harold rolled his eyes. “And how exactly am I supposed to accomplish this? With a wink and a nod? Ask politely?”
“Well…um…we were hoping you’d tell us?”
Harold snorted. “I see you’ve given this a great deal of thought.”
“We cast the spell to bring us the one best suited to defeating Voldemort.”
“And you got me.” Harold sighed. “Brilliant! Well I’m afraid suicide is not particularly high on my list.”
“You have to help us,” Ginny said.
“Why?” Harold met her glare. “I’ve already fought this war, and I don’t have the urge to do so again. Certainly not with just your little rag tag band of stalwart heroes to help me. Do you know what happens to heroes?” He turned to Harry. “They die and the world moves on. It’s as simple as that.” He smiled but there was no warmth in his eyes. “If you really want my help, and you certainly need it, then we’ll do it my way.”
“What’s your way then?” Bill demanded. Almost everyone was glaring angrily.
“I’ll need to go home and make some preparations before returning to meet with this Mr. Scrimgeour of yours.”
“Scrimgeour!!” several voices cried at once.
“Yes Scrimgeour.” Harold was unfazed by their glowers. “Your government and I must have some sort of understanding before I take action on their soil. Personally I think that’s particularly generous of me, considering that my world has difficulties of its own. Though perhaps our problems can solve each other’s?” He smirked. “That is my offer and the only why I could be effective.”
“Scrimgeour is never effective,” Harry said.
“But I am,” Harold said. There was no arrogance in his voice, just confidence. Silence fell louder than the greatest noise. “Well I’ve had a long day.” Harold yawned. “Perhaps while your pondering, someone could show me to my bed?” Harold Potter smiled, and his eyes twinkled harshly.
Corporal Gilford Rayne snapped to attention. “My men are ready for deployment, Ma’m.”
“At ease Corporal,” Hermione said. “We’ll be leaving shortly. Have them get into position.” He saluted smartly before joining the other two like him. Dressed in fatigues with badges on their shoulders proudly proclaiming them to be from the Muggle Legions. Their uniforms were made from specially charmed materials and each wore a manufactured protection amulet around their neck. They were the elite, the only Muggles who were allowed to fight in wizard’s wars. They busied themselves performing last minute checks on their weapons.
Crouched over the pentagram burn mark were three dark figures. “Gavrilov,” Hermione said. One of the figures rose and approached her. His hair was streaked with white and the markings on his coat proclaimed him to be a veteran of Grindelwald’s Ehrengarde.
“Ms. Granger?” he asked politely.
“Where’s the Order?”
“Black said something about guests.” Gavrilov smiled unpleasantly.
“I hope they hurry up. This spell could take all night.” Hermione scowled. Gavrilov said nothing, but then he wasn’t expected to. Hermione’s watch ticked loudly. The Ehrengarde muttered softly to each other, while the Muggles checked their weapons. Hermione fought to keep still. Fidgeting would do no good. Finally the doors swung open and a group of five entered. Two walked especially slowly, due to the shackles on their hands and feet. Dark eyes peered out of deep blackened sockets. Their hands were boney and their face skeletal, one could almost believe that they were corpses, save for the hatred that shone in those eyes, hatred that had survived the even gloom of Azkaban. They were flanked by three in dark gray battle robes, the Phoenix Emblem proudly displayed. They came to a halt and their leader gave a short aristocratic nod.
“Granger,” he acknowledged.
“Black.” She glanced down at the prisoners. “I see you’ve brought our guests.”
“Indeed. Care to tell me why? The Wizengamot was very reluctant to let them go.”
“I require an anchor on both ends,” she said.
His eyes widened in understanding. “A blood ritual!”
“Yes.” She dipped her head in agreement. “Bella looks the weaker to me.” She nodded at the chained woman. Black shrugged. “We’ll use her first. The anchor will have to be stronger on the other side.” Hermione withdrew a jeweled dagger from her robes and offered it to him. “Perhaps you’d like to do the honors, Regulus?”