Twenty-Three
Harry: The Outside World Crowds In
On a morning when Gryffindor was scheduled for the first match of the season, Neville Longbottom arrived bursting with energy.
“If I’d known the weather was so nice, I would’ve come sooner,” he exclaimed as he shrugged out of his woolen jumper. “The conditions at Hogwarts merit a warm cuppa by the fire; so of course, Quidditch is scheduled.”
Neville’s dry humor made Harry nostalgic for his old haunts “ but only briefly.
“Deserting the Gryffindor ranks?” Ginny clucked as she grabbed her former housemate in a quick hug.
“Meaning no offense, Ginny, Harry, but I’ve had enough Quidditch to last a lifetime! Those stands are mighty uncomfortable on my backside.”
Diplomatically, Harry tendered, “Well, you’re not technically a student anymore, are you?”
Neville shrugged nonchalantly. “Not a graduate, either, not until I sit my NEWT's.”
“When will that be?” Ginny inquired as she ushered him towards the welcoming wicker chairs overlooking the ocean.
“The Headmistress rescheduled them, again, for January. Getting everyone up to snuff after last year's academic debacle -- that’s what she charitably calls it -- is taking longer than expected.”
“Half of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were holed up with you in the Room of Requirement,” Harry acknowledged.
“And the Slytherins were hardly that much better off with that Carrow overseer,” Neville opined.
“Junior Death Eater Camp more like,” Ginny interjected sarcastically.
“Not that it hasn’t always pulled in that direction,” Neville agreed. “Although Snape did emphasize intellectual pursuits over brutality. At least he did when he was still their Head of House.”
“Never thought you’d find yourself holding up Snape as a paragon, did you?” Harry scoffed, silently recalling the peculiar shape of Neville’s boggart. “Just goes to show you how much times have changed.”
Neville nodded solemnly. “But in all fairness, the Slytherins who have returned for the NEWT revisions seem intent on finding honorable jobs like the rest of us. I suspect some of them went along with the Death Eaters more out of fear than anything else.”
“My dad seems to think likewise,” Ginny concurred.
“Is that the lighthouse in the distance?” Neville marveled as he shaded his eyes against the water’s reflection. “I can see why Luna would mistake it for an ancient temple!”
“The weathering of the constant sea spray makes it look much older than it is,” Harry offered. “Would you like to hike out to the headland?”
“We can have a picnic lunch as we pretend to oversee our watery domain,” Ginny suggested.
“Sounds great!” Neville pulled a pair of compact Omnioculars up to his eyes. “I can’t wait to get a closer look at some of those plants.”
“Perfect timing,” Harry agreed. “There’s Lexxie coming back with your wand already.”
Neville turned out to be an exceedingly affable guest as he detailed all the recent changes at Hogwarts. It was hardly surprising that the Herbology classes were fit to burst from all the new students, not to mention that it continued to be a popular choice at NEWT level. For safety reasons, the first years had been divided into four sessions, two of them meeting concurrently in adjoining greenhouses on any given day. Professor Sprout had established an adjutant teaching post for Neville, complete with salary. His main duties were to supervise the unruly hordes in the second greenhouse while the professor presented her lesson in the other and vice versa. The Crups Den, the nickname had been coined by Mrs. Figg. Hermione had then been obligated to explain the reference to a Muggle institution called ‘kindergarten’. The allusion was lost on Ginny as she and her brothers had all been home-schooled.
Neville’s enthusiasm was palatable as he admitted that the Headmistress had been so pleased with the way in which he motivated the rambunctious first years that he’d been allowed to helm some of the second year lessons by himself. Professor Sprout would just look on from the back of the room while she took a much needed rest.
Herewith, he recounted a rowdy tale of a particularly cheeky bunch of mandrakes which seemed intent on a cross-species pollination with a curvaceous second year. Neville blushed copiously as he detailed the girl’s reaction as she backhanded the overzealous plant into its sniggering companions. He finished by reassuring Harry and Ginny that no one was the worse for wear and it looked like they were going to have a bumper crop this year.
“Don’t they call you Serpent Slayer these days?” Ginny teased as Neville summoned a grayish shrub from the edge of the pockmarked parapet.
“Better than Godric’s Lackey as the Slytherins are prone to say,” Neville dismissed. Switching subjects to cover his embarrassment, he added, “This may look like ordinary rosemary to the untrained eye…” He rubbed a few of the narrow leaves to release an aroma which was both pine-like and sweet. “…but it’s actually a rare magical cousin that only grows in volcanic soil. Highly prized and totally resistant to propagation in a greenhouse.” He held up fingertips that sparkled like miniature fireworks in the shade of the lighthouse ruins.
With a heavy sigh, he backtracked, “I think I finally understand the discomfort you feel with fame, Harry. I’m just an ordinary bloke who did what he had to do when he was caught in the middle of things. I congratulate myself for not freezing at the crucial moment, but that bravery thing is nothing but codswallop! The true heroes are those whose photos and biographies line the vestibule to the Dark Arts classroom.”
Lupin, Snape and Moody, Neville then expounded. The three exemplary Dark Arts instructors who’d given their very lives to see that Hogwarts survived for the next generation.
Lupin was easy, Harry thought to himself. Despite his short tenure, no other teacher short of Dumbledore himself was as beloved to his students… Why the words practically wrote themselves. On the other hand…
Harry cleared his throat, “Er, surely you recall that Moody never taught us. It was the lesser Barty Crouch sloshed with Polyjuice Potion.”
Neville nodded happily. “Useful lessons, though. Never thought I’d need to know how to resist those Unforgiveables, but I guess it takes one Death Eater to anticipate another.”
Ginny shivered noticeably at the memories. “It just made the Carrows hate you that much more.”
“Precisely,” Neville grinned. “But as to your concerns, Harry, the Headmistress detailed that in the tribute that hangs upon the wall. Turns out Barmy Barty was a bit overwhelmed having to draw up lesson plans on a regular basis. Every time he opened his trunk to pluck another hair from the real Moody, he also solicited teaching advice. Not that he always followed recommendations, Moody was quick to point out “ or so the Headmistress explained.”
“McGonagall’s been conversing with a dead man?” Harry argued.
Neville returned in a matter-of-fact tone, “I assumed she talked to Moody while he was still alive. Fresh from his ordeal inside the trunk, would be my guess.”
“See, I told you we were missing out by not being allowed at those Order meetings in Grimmauld Place,” Ginny groused.
“Let me see if I can remember how she put it; it was quite inspiring actually.” Neville squeezed his eyes shut as he concentrated for all he was worth. “‘For in channeling Moody’s brusque persona, Crouch discovered the best in himself as well.’”
“You have to admit that next to that Carrow Troglodyte, little Barty was a pussycat,” Ginny noted with a distasteful grimace.
“What about Snape?” Harry demanded. “McGonagall didn’t strike me as being overly fond of the fellow “ even before he leap-frogged over her head to become Headmaster.”
“I knew you’d be curious,” Neville beamed. “She used the speech the Minister for Magic gave at the medals ceremony a few weeks ago. Word was that you had some input there. The full text is in the Daily Prophet that I left you back at the villa.”
Not wishing to revisit those gloomy memories any more than necessary, Ginny posed, “How’s Figgy doing now that she’s landed herself a teaching post?”
“A Devil’s Snare, more like,” Neville chortled. “Not that any of that was of her making.”
Catching on, Harry tendered, “Changing gears from Muggle-hating to understanding their eccentricities.”
“All Alecto Carrow’s teachings were a complete waste of time,” Neville confirmed.
“Death Eater propaganda,” Harry clarified.
“Right. Hermione said the exact same thing herself,” acknowledged Neville. “But you can’t deny that it left all those hoping to sit the Muggle Studies OWL missing one year’s worth of material.”
“Did the students have to take those in mid-July like I did last year?” Ginny inquired. “Everything was in such an uproar after Dumbledore’s death.”
“Second year in a row,” Neville confirmed. “Headmistress commented that they were making an unhealthy habit of having to rush to get students’ results to them in time for September first. ‘Next thing you know, sixth years will be sitting pretty in the Great Hall waiting for their owls to arrive while the rest of the school starts classes,’ she grumbled.”
They all laughed at Neville’s attempt to assume a falsetto with McGonagall’s distinctive Scottish burr.
“Have to give Professor Figg credit, though,” Neville continued. “The ages in her classes are all mixed up: those catching up and those who are recognizing for the first time the value of communing with Muggles.”
Harry stopped himself from saying that the latter just wanted to be prepared to fade into a Muggle crowd should dark forces threaten the wizarding world in the future. Perhaps some did harbor a curiosity they’d been afraid to indulge in the past.
With obvious enthusiasm, Neville went on to describe the practical lessons that Professor Figg hosted in her cottage on a regular basis. Simple demonstrations of electricity and the mechanisms by which it powered the labor-saving devices in her home. She'd also taught them about the invisible airborne emanations that fed the moving images into the telly-box.
“That last one would’ve been a bit hard to swallow had the professor not reminded us that wizard wireless uses a very similar principle,” Neville observed.
“Are you seeking a NEWT in Muggle Studies now?” Ginny teased.
“Anything’s possible,” Neville allowed with a shy smile. “I certainly get to step into the Muggle world when I retrieve the professor each morning. Another one of my duties. You didn’t expect her to trek all the way from the other side of Hogsmeade to the school gates on foot, did you? Weather’s rotten more often than not. But she can’t very well use the Floo by herself. The powder needs that spark of magic within wizards to ignite it.”
Immediately, Harry pinpointed the obvious flaw. “Is the school now accessible by Floo? Even in a time of relative peace, isn’t it rather risky to leave the students unprotected in such a manner?”
“Don’t worry, the Headmistress thought all that through. A tiny window is opened when I Floo from her hearth in the morning. Gives us only a half hour to return.”
“You could still be ambushed by rogue Death Eaters,” Ginny postulated. “Especially if you stick to a predictable schedule.”
“True. The Headmistress subjects me to rigorous Patronus checks going and coming.”
“What about Mrs. Figg?” Harry demanded as his mind swirled with unpleasant possibilities. Somehow, he didn’t think Polyjuice Potion would restrict a wizard from assuming the appearance of non-wizarding folk. Millicent Bulstrude’s cat was a lesson in point.
“They have a companionable discussion about her cats,” Neville supplied.
“Her cats?” Harry could not believe what he was hearing. Had McGonagall gone just as dotty as he’d always supposed Mrs. Figg to be?
Neville gave a piercing look in response to Harry's outburst. “Have you ever been able to keep all the names and personalities straight? And she was your neighbor for how many years?”
“Since my earliest recollection,” Harry admitted lowly. It was a population that was always in flux, he thought to himself. New births and new strays “ not to mention a decided lack of interest on his part. “You’re saying McGonagall has that type of encyclopedic knowledge?”
“Seems right fond of cats. Hardly surprising, when you consider her Patronus and Animagus shapes,” Neville put forth.
“Why the fandango?” Ginny scoffed. “Filch’s Probity Probe would be much faster. Don’t tell me the Headmistress confiscated that.”
Harry couldn’t help sniggering as he considered that would be tantamount to emasculating the surly caretaker.
Neville confided, “Tell you the truth, Filch is mighty put out over Professor Figg in general. Only don’t tell anyone I said anything.”
“Has his ugly nose right out of joint, eh?” Ginny giggled.
“It’s the cats, see. The chap’s actually jealous that the Headmistress doesn’t ask after Mrs. Norris in such a fashion.”
“Can’t he see it’s a ruddy security measure?” Harry sputtered.
“Have you ever known Filch to see beyond his own nose?” Neville returned in a rhetorical manner.
“Or beyond his own self-interest,” Ginny echoed, effectively reminding them all that Filch had fawned over Umbridge’s totalitarian tactics.
With hesitant fingers, Harry leafed through the parchment pages of the newspaper on the low table before him. He quickly passed over the photo of a smiling Molly Weasley holding up an Order of Merlin, First Class, her round cheeks glistening with tears. To either side, both George and Andromeda Tonks looked like they could barely keep their lips from trembling. On page two, a headline touted Colin Creevey as being the youngest-ever recipient of an Order of Merlin. The photo of his mother clinging tightly to his brother, Dennis, conveyed just how much she wished her firstborn son had shown a little less initiative.
So many lost, Harry bemoaned internally. Who would have been there to accept Snape’s accolades? Surely, none of the assorted Death Eaters who were now claiming they had been secretly on his side. He gave a heavy sigh at the randomness of death. If only he’d had more time… The loss of such a brilliant man due to Voldemort’s peevishness made Harry’s blood feel as if it had been replaced by corrosive acid.
He was pleased, nonetheless, that the Minister had heeded his recommendations concerning such a universally misunderstood man. Snape had been posthumously honored with an Order of Merlin, third class, along with the rest who has fallen in the fight against tyranny. Not that the general wizarding population was aware of Snape’s true contributions towards their victory. Likely Kingsley himself would’ve remained unconvinced had Harry not surrendered the man’s last memories directly into his hands. Entrusting the Minister to recognize their personal nature, Harry had been assured the new administration would treat them as classified.
So how had the Minister been able to tread the fine line between complete disclosure and honoring Harry’s plea for privacy? A few pages in, he found the text of a speech that was credited in part to Percy Weasley.
His life was consumed by minutia. The single drop of pernicious solution that separated an antidote from a poison, success from failure. The slight misplaced nuance that would expose his duplicity to the Dark Lord for all to see.
Yet he persevered in this world of half-light and shadows, striving to hide his true intentions behind an implacable façade that no one questioned. It had taken him years to hone his dour persona so that his armor remained in place without second thought. A moment of hesitation could mean the difference between life and death, the lessons of a Potions Master bubbling over into other parts of his life.
He was an intensely private man, guarding his own failures without lingering over his triumphs. It was safe to say that very few knew the man behind the mask. He was the ghost, freed by its very anonymity to roam unhindered just as he did his utmost to right the wrongs that he’d once helped to perpetrate.
Only with his dying breath did he divulge the enormity of his influence, the selfless ways in which he had protected the young and weak from making the same mistakes as he. More than anyone, Severus Snape fulfilled Dumbledore’s legacy “ and more than anyone, he did not let on that he did. He did not seek approval or recognition for his contributions, yet our way of life and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry survive because of his actions.
He was not a man who made friends easily; so in death, there were few who came forth to honor him. But as the word of his true benevolence spread from the lips of none other than Harry Potter, other colleagues felt the need to reassess the assumptions they had made about this enigmatic man.
For there was no doubt that the side of good triumphed due to the sacrifices made by Severus Snape. Voldemort's ultimate defeat hinged upon the tiny facts, the minutia, that Snape had never divulged to anyone other than Harry himself “ and then only at the very end. While he’d allowed the world to brand him as Dumbledore’s nefarious murderer, Snape had sheltered young Draco Malfoy from committing the heinous act himself, never specifying to Voldemort that it had been Draco who had disarmed the great wizard before Snape himself arrived on the scene. It was the single detail that Voldemort needed to secure mastery over the wand he’d stolen from Dumbledore’s tomb; and Severus Snape singlehandedly foiled his plan.
Ironically, Snape was killed in Draco’s stead. Not because his duplicity was ever uncovered, but because he stood between the Dark Lord and a piece of strangely carved wood. It was an incorrect assumption on Voldemort’s part, the start of a chain reaction that would end with the monster’s own demise. Draco lived on to start anew, Harry avoided being cut down by a wand that lent him its allegiance instead, and the wizarding world was able to rebuild.
Let those who denounced Snape for assuming the role of Headmaster take heed: it was his hand that stayed that of the Dark Lord’s overzealous lieutenants more often than not. Who else among the Death Eater ranks would have been preferable? For make no mistake, Voldemort was poised to take over the Ministry of Magic and the world; he would not have left the next generation untended at Hogwarts.
Seeming to work with his enemies while subtly throwing obstacles in their path, Snape tirelessly unraveled Voldemort’s heinous framework from within. Not so simple a task when such a monster had the power to invade your mind through Legilimancy. Snape’s Occulmancy shields had to be impossibly transparent -- yet tamper-proof -- to not fall under suspicion. An impossible and contradictory task; but Snape seemed to do the impossible on a regular basis, concurrently embodying two incompatible roles for years on end.
Now that the dust has settled, let us recognize that Severus Snape stands as a testament to Dumbledore’s firm belief that everyone deserves a second chance “ and that genuine remorse is often the best motivator of all.
Harry bowed his head in silent remembrance until Neville’s soft tread brought him back to the present.
“We certainly missed you at the awards ceremony,” Neville began. “There was only one other First Class medal presented -- to Molly Weasley. Ron, Hermione, and I were accorded second class medals and we were not the trio everyone was expecting.”
“I meant what I said about retiring from public life,” Harry insisted as politely as possible. He hadn’t dwelled on the paper’s speculation on his whereabouts but it had been impossible to miss. “The Daily Prophet needs some lessons in letting go.”
“They seem to think you’re purposely adopting a mysterious aura,” Neville postulated.
Ginny came to his defense, “They’ll say anything to sell papers.”
“Just skirting around the truth enough that they can’t be accused of anything,” Harry tendered. “I long ago decided it’s best to say nothing at all.”
“Let them fabricate stories out of thin air?” Neville chortled.
“Hard to find credible witnesses, then.”
Harry caught his breath as Ginny emerged from the bedroom. After showering, she had donned an emerald green frock that skimmed her slender figure in a most beguiling fashion. His eyes focused on the tubular shell that hung loosely ‘round her neck on a transparent cord, its weight pressing the fabric deeply into the valley between her breasts...
With a radiant smile at Neville, Ginny announced, “I put your things in Harry’s room. It’s relatively tidy.”
Harry kept his face impassive at the code words which signified that all incriminating evidence was hidden from public view.
“You forget I shared a dorm with him for six years,” Neville chuckled. “I wouldn’t mind a shower myself before tea, but I really can’t stay the weekend. Promised the Headmistress I’d deliver a fresh pot of Floo Powder to Figgy so she wouldn’t be stranded come Monday.”
Ginny shared a pointed look with Harry, but didn’t elaborate.
They lingered companionably over a sumptuous tea that incorporated Greek finger foods and pastries. Neville confessed that he much preferred these to standard English fare such a crumpets and cake.
“Why don’t you take some to Mrs. Figg with our compliments?” Harry suggested.
Neville hesitated briefly, then took the box neatly tied with string that Ginny Levitated from the kitchen.
“How do you manage to study, revise and teach at the same time?” Ginny inquired.
“I’m just concentrating on Herbology for now. Perhaps I’ll sit for some other exams when they’re offered at the end of summer term. As for teaching, it’s mostly about showing up and not letting on when they get the better of you. Professor Sprout does all the grading of papers and exams so I have my evenings free to study.”
“How’s your gran holding up?” Harry inquired. “Please give her our regards.”
“Believe it or not,” Neville confided lowly, “she’s having the time of her life. Reliving her youth, the Headmistress is always teasing her. The students seem to think Gran’s a real showstopper so her classes have become rather popular. I sit in sometimes, although it’s less of a distraction if I use the observation gallery so no one knows I’m there.”
“Does she commute back and forth from your house in the country?” Harry posed conversationally.
“It’s a bit of a mess, to tell the truth,” Neville supplied with a sheepish grin. “Gran didn’t exactly look back when she escaped from the clutches of the Death Eaters.”
“Rumor was that they only sent one man to rein in a defenseless old bird and she let him have it,” Harry noted wryly.
“That was Dawlish, yeah. He spent the next week in St. Mungo’s, I heard,” Neville crowed. “But they sent a proper phalanx to follow up. Just in case the old lady was addled enough to sneak back home. They weren’t so charitable to the house itself.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Neville,” Ginny sympathized.
“It’s not beyond repair, mind you. But right now, it’s more than I can coordinate myself. In the meanwhile, Gran’s been assigned a generous suite of rooms in the teachers quarters. Due to my new duties with the Crups Den, the castle recognizes me as part of the staff so I’ve been able to bunk in the second bedroom.”
“What about the other revising students?” Ginny wondered. “Are they able to stay in the dorms?”
“Not really. But the Headmistress converted the old stables as guest quarters so many chose to stay there, although it’s still a bit rustic. East side is for men, west for young ladies. She reminded us that she’d installed the same restrictive spells that are used in the House dormitories.”
“That’s sure to chafe,” Ginny opined. “Some people, anyway…”
Neville nodded knowingly. “Some have opted to find lodgings in Hogsmeade or Apparate to the main gates each morning. Extra duties for Hagrid who unlocks the gates and Filch who grudgingly checks them over. Mrs. Norris supervises as usual.”
“Good to know some things never change,” Harry chuckled.
It was with true regret that they said their good-byes after draining the last of the teapot.
“I really must be getting back. Double-duty and all that,” Neville demurred.
“Be sure and give everyone our love,” Ginny insisted as she gave him a tearful hug. “And don’t eat all those pastries by yourself!”
Neville blushed in schoolboy fashion as he assured her that he would make sure Figgy’s cats didn’t help themselves, either.
As soon as they were alone, Ginny asserted, “It wouldn’t surprise me if Figgy doesn’t get those pastries until tomorrow.”
“And just why, oh Great Seer, would Neville not drop them off with the Floo pot? Is he that absent-minded?”
“There is no Floo pot.”
Momentarily flummoxed, Harry sputtered, “There isn’t?”
“Even if there is, wouldn’t it make more sense to deliver it Monday morning when he gathers Figgy for class?”
“You’re jumping to conclusions.”
“Really? Well, let me go out on a limb here: the proverbial Floo pot is actually Hannah Abbott. Hermione told me she’s been hired as Rosmerta’s assistant at the Three Broomsticks.”
Recalling the energetic blonde girl from Dumbledore’s Army, Harry observed, “She can’t be there to revise for NEWT’s; she missed most of her sixth year. She was whisked away when Death Eaters killed her mother.” Sweet Merlin, had those dark tentacles touched everyone he knew?
“She didn’t return last year, either,” Ginny confirmed. “Not that I can blame her. Neville was hoping she’d decide otherwise, even if it meant repeating her sixth year with Luna and me.”
“He told you this?”
“Not gift-wrapped, but the details emerged bit by bit. Remember how he was always scrawling on a letter the year before?”
Harry nodded absently even though he really hadn’t noticed. He’d had more than enough on his own plate during his sixth year to worry about a love-sick roommate.
Ginny went on to explain how Neville had first written to Hannah to express his outrage at her mother’s murder. Most would’ve classified that as a condolence letter, but Neville admitted that he felt rather strongly about the injustice and his words were more forceful than was strictly polite. But instead of being offended at his forthrightness, Hannah wrote back expressing similar feelings. Thus they began to owl each other pretty regularly during the school year, Hannah detailing how frustrated she felt being kept out of the fray for safety's sake. She bristled at hearing of the dastardly plots which were afoot in Hogwarts all year and that she only found out about them after the fact.
“So that explains why she was so anxious to return for the Final Battle,” Harry interjected.
“That and the fact that the Carrows’ search of all incoming and outgoing mail pretty much slammed the door on their correspondence.”
“How cruel to keep first years from sending homesick letters home.”
“You have no idea,” Ginny insisted. “A letter home every two weeks was mandatory under their regime. They went around with clipboards after supper to prod the delinquent ones who were naive enough to spread their books in the Great Hall.”
“I take it you weren’t.”
“No Gryffindor was. The Carrows couldn’t enter our common room without McGonagall issuing them the password and she had no problem standing up to them.”
Recalling how their Head of House had confronted the loathsome Dolores Umbridge, Harry was certain the air was fairly crackling with pent up animosity.
“Not that we were exempted from the assignment,” Ginny continued. “McGonagall didn’t have that much influence. But she did remind us in urgent whispers to mention how the new classes were ‘challenging’ and other euphemisms that made her frown as deeply as Snape himself. Then she’d personally review our efforts to make sure no one earned any punishments.”
“I can’t see you giving in so easily,” Harry observed wryly.
She favored him with a truly evil smirk. “Found my own unique angle. I simply asked Mum how Ron’s spattergroit was progressing and relayed how worried we all were about him. In turn, Mum elaborated at length about the Healer’s recommendations and how the disease would have to run its course. Since Ron was still contagious, they warned her to continue to observe precautionary procedures such as Levitating his dinner tray through a narrow slit in the window.
“The crowning glory was when Mum spun out the tale to incorporate a surprise inspection from the Infectious Disease Office. The official was in complete biohazard gear that encased him in a giant balloon except for a clear face visor.”
Harry shook his head as he surrendered to the chuckles bubbling up from inside. Ginny had a true gift for subversive techniques “ which apparently was hereditary.
Ginny herself was having difficulty keeping a straight face as she added, “Then as if that wasn’t enough, the official flatly forbade Mum from burning his discarded gear in the kitchen hearth as it was connected to the Floo Network. Cited all sorts of regulations about public health. Instead, he insisted that everything be burned with the old leaves in the backyard and supervised the operation himself.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t set off a wide-spread panic,” Harry noted.
“The Carrows gave specific instructions that should my brother take a turn for the worse, I was not allowed to come back to school until I was first cleared by St. Mungo’s. Despite her stern face, McGonagall’s eyes betrayed that she took great delight in relaying this to me.”
Likely things were much more harrowing that Ginny let on, Harry noted grimly. But she did a fine job of making it seem like nothing more than an amusing prank. Aloud, he observed, “You've got that look again. What else do you know that I don't?”
“About Neville?” she teased, returning to their earlier conversation. “Lots. Let's see, he was my date for the Yule Ball all those years ago so there were those fevered whisperings as he held me in his arms.”
“Those were the two of you counting the dance tempo and apologizing for stepping on each other's feet!”
“Oi, that hurts!”
“Exactly! Followed by some rather unladylike expletives, I warrant.”
“That was your date,” Ginny protested. “Neville was actually a pretty good dancer “ once he conquered his shyness. It was his tongue he tripped over, not his feet!”
“Consider that an improvement over my evening. The only thing my date said to me after hello was if I minded if she danced with someone else. And that was hours later.” His chuckles over Parvati's attempts to lead on the dance floor died in his throat when he recalled seeing her lifeless body laid out in the Great Hall. “Ancient history,” he mumbled.
Sensing his change of mood, Ginny squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Does it surprise you that much that Neville has a girlfriend? Seems they wandered into each other after the battle and simply took up where they’d left off.”
Not really, Harry thought. The round-cheeked boy had grown into a resolute and determined young man. Neville’s brave stance before Voldemort’s demonic glare was sure to have been noticed by the female population on hand.
In all honesty, Harry was more in awe of his own circumstances; hardly daring to believe that in a few hours’ time, he’d be holding Ginny close as her skin glowed like alabaster in the moonlight.
Apparently, she had no trouble reading the emotions playing across his face as she cuddled into the crook of his arm. “What else did you want to ask?” she offered.
Harry took a moment to shift mental gears before he prompted, “What about Dawlish? Isn't this the same bloke who your mum was raving about just a few weeks ago?” It was clear from Ginny's expression that this was not the query she'd been expecting. Nonetheless, Harry plowed on, “A considerate chap who did his best to unravel the dark plots around him. That is what Molly said, isn't it?”
Taken aback, Ginny stammered, “Essentially.”
“He’s nothing more than the Ministry’s eviction specialist! He came after Neville's poor gran just like he threw Hagrid out of his own hut after Umbridge sacked him!”
The anger seethed in him as he recalled the scene from atop the Astronomy Tower during his OWL exam. Had Dawlish been the one to incapacitate Fang, or worse yet, stun McGonagall in the chest when she’d tried to intercede? With only figures in silhouette it was impossible to say, but Hagrid’s voice had been unmistakable when he’d identified Dawlish as being present.
“I suspect it was much like with Tonks,” Ginny defended. “He was trying to deliver a warning in the best way he could without blowing his cover.”
“Sounds convenient, doesn't it? The man confessed to Molly that he only pretended to be Confunded and yet he targets Augusta Longbottom!”
“Look, Harry,” Ginny retorted, “in case you've forgotten, I wasn't ruddy there! I was up to my eyeballs in the Carrows' twisted teachings, if you recall.”
“You're saying I should ask Molly,” Harry sighed as he backed down.
“You should ask Dawlish himself. There's always a chance he charmed his way past Mum's radar.”
Her comment brought Harry up short. “Is that possible?”
“Anything's possible,” Ginny shrugged. “Especially if he’s truly a scoundrel who will go to any lengths to get what he wants.”
After a bit of consideration, Harry owled Percy instead. Surely his firsthand knowledge of the Ministry’s workings could provide a more balanced opinion than just about anyone else he knew.
Percy's candid reply was not what Harry expected.
Dear Harry,
Nice to see you're getting on well in Greece.
I won't mince words about John Dawlish. Yes, he was a great supporter of Cornelius Fudge; it was part of his job during the past administration. Just like it was mine. Let’s not forget that Fudge was ultimately behind all those Educational Decrees. Not to mention his unfounded fears concerning Dumbledore’s alleged political aspirations.
Likely, Dawlish came to feel that he should've questioned orders more thoroughly before following them, but that's just how Ministry employees are trained. It's our job to put the best face on the situation at all times. It does no one any good to seem weak or indecisive.
Considering how many confirmed Death Eaters are still trying to claim they were Imperiused, however, your concerns are well-founded. But rest assured, new headways in brain activity analysis allow us to pinpoint just whose memories have been altered and whose are just plain missing for chunks of time where they were being controlled by another. Dawlish doesn’t fall into either category.
Yes, he continued to work in a Department that was overrun by dark collaborators. That was business as usual for most of us.
Was he Yaxley's pet Auror? No.
Did he worship Madam Umbridge as the final arbiter of who was a rightful witch or wizard? Doubtful as Dawlish's estranged wife was Muggle-born herself. Only the fact that they had lived apart for over a decade put her name near the bottom of the list. Nor did Dawlish volunteer this information as Pius Thicknesse expected of all Ministry workers. By the time agents from the Muggle-born Registration Commission arrived at the woman's door, they discovered she had fled months earlier. There is no evidence that Dawlish aided in her escape or hid her from authorities, but it's no stretch to think that he found some subtle way to warn her. After all, he found ways to warn strangers of impending danger. No one would’ve questioned him sending a message concerning their children, perhaps.
Separating those who were complicit in Thicknesse's coup from those who were simply cowed by fear is no easy task. Packing everything up and going into hiding was not a decision to be taken lightly, especially by families who needed the steady income of a Ministry post to stay afloat. Many loyal workers thought they could simply weather the storm. Or perhaps, looking into the face of true evil required more fortitude than they could muster.
For whatever the reasons, Kingsley Shacklebolt trusted Dawlish enough to put him in charge of unraveling the events at the Battle of Hogwarts. A drawn out procedure to establish once and for all who fought for whom and how to separate the heroes from the villains. Can we trust Kingsley's judgment? That's a question you will have to ask yourself, knowing that he fought alongside you in the late, great Order of the Phoenix.
Can we hope that your newfound interest in the internal workings of the Ministry signal that you're ready to join us? I know the Minister is anxious to surround himself with people whom he can fully trust.