Crumbling Ambitions
A/N
Another one for you guys here.
Do go and check out my other platforms. The first chapter of my Harry Narcissa fic will be uploaded there next week along with the usual podcasts, commentaries and plethora of other things I am working on.
TBR
"'E did what?" Fleur whispered furiously.
"I'm fine," Harry assured her. "We both are but it was close. Thankfully, I managed to disarm him before any permanent damage was done."
"You defeated 'im?"
Harry nodded as he released a deep breath and took a seat on a rock by the lake.
"He is old, Fleur. I bettered him only because I was faster and could outlast him, nothing more. I told him about Tom, and we have come to an agreement of sorts."
Her eyes widened in surprise. That was not a development she had expected.
"So, 'e will 'elp you?"
"He always wanted to; he just didn't know all the facts. It can only make things easier if we coexist."
She nodded her agreement, though she was unhappy with how the headmaster had acted.
"Do you trust 'im, 'Arry?"
He shook his head.
"I trust that he wants to put an end to Voldemort, but no, I will never trust him. He placed me in danger when I was a boy and I cannot forget that."
"Non, you cannot," she agreed. "What will you do now?"
"I will continue as I have been, hopefully, with help when it is needed."
He clenched his fist, feeling the second holster he wore press against his wrist; a burden he had not asked for and one he was not sure he welcomed.
He had heard the story from Dumbledore, learned the history of the wand that had come into his possession. Though he was not convinced by the tale of the three brothers, he could not deny that there was something spectacular about this wand. Whether it came from Death himself or not, it was an incredibly powerful artefact, even if it was not as infallible as the story told.
It was not unbeatable, the two wizards that wielded it before him attesting to that very notion, but it was exceptional and could perhaps be quite the boon to his own efforts.
He had experimented with it briefly this morning and it had seemingly accepted him as its new master. The results of his work had been more than he had expected. Without it, Voldemort would be more powerful than him, but with it, that gap would close considerably.
He had not mentioned it to Fleur. Not that he believed that she would be unable to keep its existence to herself, it merely felt wrong betraying Dumbledore's trust so soon after it had been given. Were any to hear that it was in his possession, he would become a target of more than just the Dark Lord that already wished the death of him.
For now, he would keep it to himself and reveal it to her when the time was right. When that would be, he knew not but it was not a pressing issue, just something else he needed to come to terms with.
Fleur nodded her agreement.
"What are you teaching today?"
"Nothing, apparently," Harry replied with a frown. "McGonagall sent me a note this morning saying that I should meet her in the Great Hall during breakfast."
"Then we should be going, non? Breakfast will be over soon."
Harry stood and took her hand before leading them towards the castle.
"Someone will see," Fleur pointed out.
Harry shrugged.
"It won't be long before they figure it out anyway," he responded with a shrug. "I meet you every morning at the gate and take you home. Even Crabbe and Goyle couldn't miss it."
She giggled as she walked happily beside him.
"And what will they all think of the mean and lonely 'Arry Potter who is not as cold as they think."
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"I don't care."
(Break)
She had not been surprised by the letter she had received, not truly. The Minister was continuing to demonstrate just how much of a buffoon he was and his underling's placement at the school would only antagonise the relationship between the Potter boy and the Ministry further. She remembered Dolores Umbridge, and not fondly. Even as a teenager she had been rather unpleasant and desired more than she was capable of.
Griselda Marchbanks could not help but think the woman had certainly bitten off more than she could handle, in more ways than one.
She was not of the calibre to be a professor, as shown by the ridiculous curriculum she had introduced to the students, despite her own attempts to prevent such mediocrity. Her protests had been ignored, and though it should be her that gave the final approval of these changes, she had been ignored.
This, however, appeared to be the least of Umbridge's problems. Her own stupidity and sense of self-brilliance had urged her to make an enemy of a wizard who was both cleverer and stronger than she could hope to ever be. It would end badly for the woman, of that, Griselda was certain. However, she was of the mind of Minerva. It would be a shame for the boy to jeopardise his own education for such an insufferable and worthless fool.
Which was why she found herself approaching the castle today instead of in only a couple of months' time. Minerva felt that the situation was deteriorating rapidly, and that Potter would soon reach the end of his tether where Umbridge was concerned.
She would have no sympathy for the ghastly woman but it would reflect badly on the boy were he to take it upon himself to act as he saw fit and give the Minister grounds to escalate whatever it was he was already doing.
Griselda did not understand the man at all and would not pretend to. In short, he was a coward; too fearful to take seriously the claims that now many were making.
She shook her head as she entered the castle and then the Great Hall, wave after wave of memories coming to the forefront of her mind. She loved the school, loved her job and took it as a privilege to be the one that was able to come in and assess the students.
Over the decades, she had seen the best wizarding Britain had to offer, watched as these students grew from children into some of the most influential people in government.
She had seen potential rise into excellence, and even fall in some cases. Coupled with that, she had seen the less savoury, had seen those she had assessed do horrific things, again those with much potential to be great become so, but not in the way she would have liked.
Many had perished, others had been imprisoned and some had vanished without a trace, as was the way of the wizarding world. For every student that would one day become exceptional, there was another that would become the equal opposite.
She shook her head of those thoughts. It was not time to dwell on those that had come and gone. As always, there were others that needed her appraisal and she found herself excited by the prospect of this boy. She had high expectations of Potter and hoped that he would not fall into the latter group of witches and wizards that she had been pondering.
"Griselda," Minerva greeted her warmly as she approached the head table where the staff were seated.
She offered her friend a smile, her eyes trailing along to where Umbridge had her eyes narrowed in her direction, suspicious of her presence.
"Is the boy ready?" she asked.
"He is," Minerva confirmed. "I imagine he will continue to dazzle you with his work."
" Hem, hem."
Griselda tensed at the intrusion, the noise both rude and irksome.
"What boy would you be referring to?" Umbridge asked.
"Mr Potter will be completing the remainder of his NEWTs this week," Minerva answered.
Umbridge's nostrils flared in irritation.
"And has Cornelius approved this?"
"The Minister has no say on matters of education," Griselda answered. "I am the head of department."
"You are answerable to the Minister!"
Griselda turned her attention to the purpling, squat woman.
"I will not be spoken to like that by an insipid little wretch who has no business being here in the first place," she declared bluntly. "Merlin knows how you found yourself here with your own performance in your exams, Dolores. Now do shut up, you are beginning to annoy me."
"How dare you!" Umbridge seethed as she stood.
Griselda merely raised an eyebrow in her direction.
"I will tell you the same as I did Fudge when he attempted to stick his nose in where it is neither wanted nor needed. Until I am removed from office, I will make the decisions where education is concerned. If you wish to, go and take it up with him, if he is not too busy hiding under his desk. Either way, get out of my sight, Dolores, you are testing my patience and I have more important matters to attend to."
Umbridge was taken aback by how the woman spoke to her. None dared to, well, one did but he his time would come.
"Cornelius will be hearing of this," she promised as she took her leave, stomping from the hall as the students watched, whispering to one another.
Griselda's attention was brought back to the members of staff as Dumbledore released a deep sigh.
"Was it necessary to antagonise her?" he asked.
She raised an eyebrow at him.
"Do be quiet, Albus. You may be willing to feign politeness to her, but I will not put aside my laurels for the despicable woman. She can tell Fudge whatever she likes, it will make no difference. He cannot fire me, not without a hell of a stink being kicked up. Now, where is Potter?"
Dumbledore chuckled and shook his head before pointing to the Ravenclaw table where a very amused Harry was seated.
"Well, come along, Potter. Wipe that stupid grin off your face and help me. This bag is quite heavy."
He stood and relieved her of the burden with both Minerva and Filius following suit, the former gesturing for her to follow.
"Can I just say that you are my new hero," Potter muttered as they began to ascend the staircase to the first floor.
She grinned unwittingly before shaking her head.
"Flattery will get you nowhere with me, Potter," she returned evenly, the grin remaining firmly in place.
(Break)
"We cannot continue to ignore this, Cornelius," Amelia despaired, frantically waving the piece of parchment she held in front of him. "Werewolf attacks have increased by four hundred percent compared to last year. Violent crime by six hundred and crimes against muggles by tenfold. It is only getting worse since the Azkaban breakout."
That was a sore point for the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Many good colleagues of hers had either been killed or seriously injured apprehending them the first time around. It now felt as though it had been for nothing. They now walked free, carrying on with the deeds they had been imprisoned for.
"What would you have me do, Amelia?" Fudge bit back irritably.
"I need more aurors on the streets! I need them better trained and I need to be able to investigate why this is happening."
Cornelius huffed.
"It is just a blip, Amelia. It will settle down soon enough as soon as Potter and Dumbledore stop prodding the embers of a fire that burned out a long time ago. Had they not begun with this ridiculousness, none of this would be happening."
"You blame Potter and Dumbledore for this?" Amelia questioned in disbelief.
"Of course, it is their fault," Fudge grumbled. "I know there a those in our society that have no love for muggles and half-bloods. Potter and Dumbledore have spurred them to act on their tendencies by whispering about the Dark Lord. It will die down. I admit, the escape has not helped matters, but I have faith that you will recapture them and much of this problem will be dealt with."
Amelia could only shake her head.
Before she could refute the man, the fireplace behind him roared into life, the emerald flames sending a burst of heat throughout the room.
"Cornelius?" the shrill voice of his former Undersecretary only adding to the woman's woes of the day.
"What is it, Dolores?" Fudge sighed.
"Did you know that Marchbanks is here? She is administering Potter's final NEWT exams as we speak."
Cornelius released a deep breath. He had a suspicion that the woman would not listen to him, but to defy him so openly was not something he had expected.
"Dolores, as you can see, I am very busy. I have more important things occupying my mind than Potter's bloody NEWTs."
"But Minister…"
"But nothing, Dolores! So, the boy gets his NEWTs, what difference will that make? He is still just a boy."
"But he will be able to leave the school. I will be unable to keep an eye on him."
"And a lot of good that has done so far," Fudge muttered. "He does not live here, and as far as I'm concerned, the sooner he leaves Britain, the better. His influence will fade."
"No, Minister, it will not," Umbridge denied. "I have it on very good authority that he is to inherit the Black lordship. He will be the head of two important families."
"Who told you this?" Fudge asked, a deep frown marring his features.
As far as he knew, Draco would be the next Lord Black when he came of age. Lucius had assured him of that.
"Lucius's boy told me. He is certain that it is true. His godfather is a Black," Dolores pointed out.
"Bloody hell," Fudge grumbled. "It is the kind of thing Sirius Black would do. Why were we not aware of this?"
"Because the Ministry cannot interfere in the lines of inheritance," Amelia broke in, amused at the thought of the Potter boy on the Wizengamot. He would prove to be entertaining if nothing else.
"Damn," Cornelius growled, pounding his fist on his desk.
He took a few calming breaths and shook his head.
"That will not be for some time and he may well appoint a proxy if he does not wish to be here. For now, there is nothing we can do. If I were to act against Griselda, the Wizengamot would be most displeased," he finished, shooting a questioning look towards Amelia.
"They would," she confirmed. "She is perhaps the most respected member of the Ministry. Those on both sides of the room would tear you to shreds if you attempted anything."
"Then perhaps this is a good thing," he decided thoughtfully. "Potter can get his education and we can have him removed from the castle. If he has a home abroad, that will be the only place he can go. He will be out of our hair."
"I don't like it, Minister," Umbridge denied. "Merlin knows what the boy will get up to."
"So long as it isn't here, it is not my problem. Good riddance to him, I say."
"But he will not be gone. He will still be studying under McGonagall and the half-goblin," Umbridge reminded him.
"But he will have no other reason to be here other than that. Given the circumstances, it is the best we can hope for."
Dolores huffed disappointedly but nodded her understanding. She would get no help from the Minister.
"Very well. I shall proceed as I have been."
Her head vanished from within the flames and Cornelius lost himself in his thoughts for several moments. Amelia did not know what he was thinking, but it was unlikely to be anything good.
"Minister?" she questioned, pulling him from his thoughts.
"Oh, Bones, well, as you can see, much of the problem will handle itself."
"No, Cornelius, it will not," she countered. "Potter is not the problem here and you know it. Something is going on out there and it is becoming dangerous for us all."
Fudge narrowed his eyes at her.
"You overstep, Madame Bones," he seethed. "I will not tell you again, there is nothing I can do to help you. We do not have the available funding to give you what you are asking for. I can assure you, it will blow over soon enough and that is my final word on the matter. Do not bring it up with me again or I will look to appoint a new head of department that doesn't bother me with problems that are theirs."
Amelia stiffened, her jaw clenching under the effort to hold her tongue.
"Fine," she replied. "We will make do as we always have, but mark my words, Minister, something is happening. My aurors see it and I see it. It is not something we can hide from."
Before he could offer a rebuttal, she left the room, slamming the door behind her.
Taking a few calming breaths, she headed back towards her own office, the Minister as usual having proven to be as useful as a chocolate wand in a duel.
If Cornelius would not help, she would. Something had to be done, and at the very least, she needed knowledge. She needed to know exactly what was happening out there and there was one person who seemed to be at the centre of it all.
"Send for Auror Tonks," she instructed her secretary as she exited the elevator, "I have a task for her."
The woman rushed off to carry out her orders and Amelia entered her office. She removed a fresh piece of parchment and dipped her quill in the ink. She did not understand the situation within the castle and did not trust Dolores to not read any incoming mail. It was the kind of thing she would do if she could get away with it and she seemed to be getting away with much recently.
Just as she finished scratching out the missive, a loud knock sounded at her door.
"Come in, Tonks," she instructed.
The pink-haired woman entered, perhaps the most promising auror she had seen in many years, though she wished she was not so exuberant. She was young and would mature with age, however, and her talent could not be denied nor her usefulness, particularly with things like this.
"Wotcher, Bones, what can I do for you?"
Amelia fought the urge to sigh at the informality as she sealed the letter and handed it to the auror.
"I need you to get this to Harry Potter and I need it done with no one else becoming aware of it."
Tonks frowned but nodded her understanding.
"He will have it by the end of the day."
"Good. That will be all, Auror Tonks," Amelia said dismissively.
With a clumsy bow, the woman took her leave and Amelia leaned back in her chair. Potter's relationship with the Ministry was not a positive one, but she had helped him with his godfather and hoped he would have the decency to return the favour in her hour of need.
It was not as though she was asking much of him, just a little time and knowledge, though she doubted she would like what he had to say.
He had not struck her as one who would lie and could not fathom why he would about something so important.
She would have the truth of the matter soon enough. If he was determined to see the end of the allegedly returned Dark Lord, she was the one who would be able to help him the most, after all.
(Break)
"Excellent work, Mr Potter," Madame Marchbanks praised. "Finally, I would like you to identify and counter the curse that has been placed on this."
She removed a bracelet from within the bag and placed it on the table between them. It gave him a sense of uneasiness as he scrutinised it, the magic he could feel foreboding. Nonetheless, he held his hand around an inch above it and nodded.
"It is a Nightmare Inducing Curse that can be keyed to a specific person if you have some of their hair, blood or other bodily fluids," he explained with a frown. "This one is keyed to yourself using one of your hairs. I will need another one to counter it."
Marchbanks nodded approvingly and pulled one of her grey hairs from her head before handing it to the boy.
Carefully, Harry cast the counter, his success indicated by the hair glowing with a golden hue. He then used his wand to wrap it around the bracelet and continued with his work, his efforts eliciting a questioning look from the examiner. When he had finished, he gestured for her to pick it up.
"What did you do to it?" she asked.
"I countered it and made it so you are immune to the curse, as long as you keep this in your possession," he explained.
She picked up the bracelet, her eyes widening as a smile tugged at her lips.
"That is some very advanced magic," she acknowledged. "That will be all for this evening, Mr Potter. I will return tomorrow, and you can complete your work in potions and ancient runes."
He accepted the dismissal with a slight bow, pleased that his efforts for the day had come to an end. It had been a trying one, full of completing exam papers, a demonstration in Arithmancy and his Defence Against the Dark Arts practical. He was drained mentally, but still had his own work to complete. Much to his relief, tomorrow would be the final day of his testing, should he be successful in passing them all.
He hadn't expected to be doing so until February, but he was not averse to them having been brought forward. He had been preparing for weeks already and it was not like he would be any more ready than he was. He had simply been waiting for the day to arrive.
Still, he was pleased that the day had come to an end and was keen to return to his room. Before doing so, however, he would need to escort Fleur home as had become the arrangement.
It was when he rounded the corner on the second floor that a young Hufflepuff girl he did not recognise bumped into him. He frowned at her, knowing she should be familiar as he had taught all the younger years within the school.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"It doesn't matter," the girl replied, her voice not matching her appearance. "I've been asked to deliver this to you," she explained as she handed him an envelope.
He immediately recognised the Ministry seal, and everything clicked into place.
"Tonks?" he questioned.
The girl offered no reply as she vanished as quickly as she appeared around the corner and out of sight.
With her disappearance, he turned his attention to the missive and frowned as he tore it open.
Dear Mr Potter,
I would be much obliged if you could join me for a chat this evening in The Three Broomsticks at 11pm. I believe there is much to be discussed.
I would appreciate your discretion in this delicate matter and hope that you will remember that I have assisted you in the past with a problem of your own.
You will be able to identify me by the Hufflepuff scarf I will be wearing. I would recommend you also disguise yourself suitably as it would do neither of us good if we were to be seen together.
I thank you in advance for your time,
A.B
It took little effort on his part to deduce who the letter was from and as Bones had pointed out, she had helped him when he had been in need. Although he was not on the best of terms with the Ministry, the woman had always been fair with him and he would treat her with equal respect.
Perhaps there was something to be had from this meeting.
He doubted it would change much where Fudge was concerned but it certainly would not hurt to have an ally in someone as valuable as Amelia Bones. One never knew when such a connection could become useful.
He nodded as he pocketed the letter and continued on his way towards the Entrance Hall. It was quite the unexpected development, but one that could prove to be fruitful if she was open to accepting the truth.
If she proved not to be, he would be no worse off, after all.
(Break)
The hamlet they arrived in was peaceful, quiet; two things that would be intruded upon momentarily. This was her first excursion since she had been liberated from the hell that was Azkaban, and though she did not feel ready, her master had insisted she led on this one. The others had been active again for some days and he felt that doing so could only benefit her, shift her from her current disposition.
It felt wrong being here. She despised the muggles, loathed them merely for their existence. There was no place for them in this world. They were an unnecessary parasite, one that plagued the world with their inferiority. She was a witch and there were many like her who stood above each and every one of them.
"Well, are we going to attack?" Greyback growled.
Her nose wrinkled at the stench of blood that seemed to continuously waft from the man, such was his appetite for flesh. He was a disgusting beast, one that had developed a taste that went beyond the necessity of feasting only when he transformed. He had turned feral, more wolf than man as the years had passed by.
"When I give the command," she replied coldly.
He bared his yellowed teeth at her but said nothing further. He knew not to cross her. A wolf he may be, but to her, he was nothing more than an insect that would be crushed beneath her heel if she so chose. He knew it also, as to why he remained silent as she glared at him.
After a moment, her gaze shifted across the rest of those that had accompanied her, all of them werewolves. It may not be a full moon, but they were still dangerous, the years under the leadership of the bloodthirsty alpha having instilled a hatred of those not their own kind. They stood fidgeting, their clawed hands wrapped around their wands, though they would likely get little use. They were savages at best and would act us such, none maintaining any semblance of composure. No, they would revert to their beastly nature and tear flesh from bone with their filthy hands and teeth.
They sickened her, just as much as the muggles did.
Finding no reason to delay the inevitable any longer, she took a deep breath and drew her own wand.
"Go!"
With an array of baying howls, the werewolves descended on to the streets below in an untidy charge, the nature of the attack in tandem with how they lived; poorly organised and with little thought.
She watched the carnage unfold before her as she followed them at a leisurely pace, seeing no reason to rush into the fray.
She reached the dwellings in only a few minutes, the roads awash with fleeing and panicking muggles who were being picked off by the pack. Agonised screams pierced the air drowning out the growling and snarling of her master's pets.
It excited her.
The screams of those beneath her elicited a euphoria within that she had not felt in many years. It made her skin tingle and her head swim with memories of other times she had found herself in these situations. She thrived on it; the screaming, the chaos and the stench of fear that could not be missed. She too became fidgety, her body twitching in anticipation and she found herself almost pleading for someone to cross her path. She cared not if it was one of the muggles or those that had joined her. She needed to hurt someone, have them submit to her before she snuffed out whatever life remained when she was finished with them.
A loud bang in the distance sobered her from her intoxication and her stomach churned at the smell of faeces permeating from a lifeless body only a short distance away.
"What was that?" she murmured, a frown forming as she pressed on.
An agonised roar sounded, and she could see spell fire reflecting off the buildings a few streets over.
She rounded the corner to investigate, only to be hindered by an enormous muggle man holding a long metal thing with a wooden handle. She watched as he took aim at one of her comrades, removing half of his head with a projectile that was fired from the end, another bang like the one heard earlier echoing around them.
"COME ON THEN YOU BASTARDS!" he challenged as he opened up whatever it was he was holding and inserted two red, cylindrical implements before snapping his weapon shut.
Her eyes widened and she levelled her wand at him.
" Crucio," she hissed.
The spell did not leave her wand. Instead, she collapsed to the ground with a pained gasp, her hands clutching her midriff as wave after wave of agony coursed through her body.
Her head began to spin, and she vomited. Through the haze of sickness and pain, she was confused. What was happening to her? She had never experienced anything like it.
After what felt an eternity, the pain began to subside though the nausea remained as strong as it had been. She took several breaths and rested her forehead against the cold pavement to alleviate the spinning, her breathing quickening as a fresh wave of panic settled over her.
"AURORS!" a muffled shout sounded.
It was all she could do to crawl away towards a nearby house where the door had been smashed off the hinges. Much to her relief, she made it inside and found it to be empty, the occupants likely among the dead that littered the streets.
She turned sharply as a shadowy figure appeared in the doorway.
Instinctively, she aimed her wand, another scream escaping her lips as her curse failed and she was wracked with the sheer agony once more.
She could do nothing as the man approached, his features distorted by her blurred vision. He was a wizard, the silhouette of the wand he clutched still easy to make out.
"No," she groaned as he drew closer, his wand now pointed at her.
(Break)
It was not often he came here, the liveliness of the establishment not appealing to him and tonight was no different. Each table was filled with patrons, drinking and eating their fill on a Monday evening, indulging in the merriment. Harry would always prefer 'The Hag'. It was unsanitary and the clientele less than savoury, but it featured entertainment of the very best quality. He could not imagine any of those here enjoying such a place, but it would always hold fond memories for him.
It had been the first place he had witnessed duelling, where he had found a love of the art and had spent countless hours enthralled by the spectacles on display.
Tonight, however, he had to endure the rabble of The Three Broomsticks, something he vowed would not become a regular occurrence.
His gaze swept across the room, seeking out the yellow and black striped scarf he had been instructed to look for. He spotted it, the woman adorning the garment seated at a small table in the corner. Were it not for the length of wool, he would not have recognised her.
In lieu of her trademark red locks, she had coloured them blonde and her features had been softened considerably. No longer did she appear to be the stern head of the department of magical law enforcement but a patron that had stopped in for a drink on her way home from work.
"That is quite the disguise," he offered as he took a seat opposite her.
"As is yours," she replied, her eyes trailing over him, seemingly looking for something familiar. "I heard you were gifted in transfiguration. I see the rumours are not unfounded."
He acknowledged the praise with a nod as he discreetly removed his wand and cast a series of privacy wards around them.
The woman stiffened as the magic washed over them and she offered another respectful nod.
"It is clear to see why you are already being assessed for your NEWTs. I would like to know, however, where you learnt the last charm you cast. It is supposed to be only taught to aurors."
He grinned in response.
"That one I found in an auror manual I purchased in Knockturn Alley," he answered honestly. "I imagine it was misplaced, sold or stolen."
Bones shook her head irritably.
"It happens occasionally," she sighed. "They fetch quite a hefty sum."
"They cost it too," he snorted.
"Putting aside that you are illegally in possession of Ministry property, I asked you here this evening because I have need of knowledge that you are rumoured to have."
"Rumoured?"
"You are at the very centre of what is going out there. Ever since you declared the Dark Lord has returned, things have started happening, and I would have the truth of it. So, Potter, what is it you know?"
"About what is happening out there, very little. As I explained during that farce of a trial, I do not live here anymore and have no plan to return, but," he added, seeing her irritation increasing, "I will tell you that he is back. I fought him the night he returned."
"And you survived?" she asked disbelievingly.
"I did, but not unscathed. It was close, but we got away."
"You and the French champion?"
Harry nodded, pushing aside the thought of how close he had come to being killed or losing Fleur during the fight.
"I can give you a list of some of the Death Eaters that were there if you like and can even provide the memory of what happened. Mind, Fudge will not believe it. He has proven to be nothing but a fucking clown."
"No, he will not," Amelia concurred. "He is quite steadfast with his ignorance and people are dying because of it. In the past month, attacks are becoming almost daily, and he will not see reason. I fear that if something is not done, we will lose before the war even begins."
"You will," Harry replied with a shrug. "Voldemort is as dangerous as he ever has been, as cunning and ruthless. Having Fudge in charge will see the country fall."
"That is why I asked you here. I will take the list and the memory you have offered and hope that I can work around Cornelius to prevent some of what is happening."
The usually unshakable woman was truly concerned, and it did not fill the teen with confidence.
"How bad is it?"
"It is getting to be as bad as the first was. We are dealing with werewolf and giant attacks. By the time we arrive, they have fled. I do not have the numbers to patrol effectively and those I have are poorly trained for the most part. If an all-out war breaks out, we will be unable to protect the public for long."
"Then the people need to be aware of it," Harry mused aloud. "If you can get me some reliable statistics and a list of places the attacks have happened, I can ensure they will know."
Amelia shook her head.
"It will not work…"
"It will if the news is given by the Daily Prophet."
Amelia snorted.
"They will not print it. Cornelius will come down on them so hard and fast that they will likely never print another thing."
Harry smirked.
"I can assure you, Madame Bones, they will print it if given the right incentive."
Bones looked at him questioningly.
"Can you really make it happen?"
He nodded thoughtfully.
"I don't see why not. It will need to be spun in a way that focuses the attention on the negligence of the auror force by the Fudge's establishment. Don't worry, I will ensure he knows that it is me that it has come from. He will be too blinded by his hatred towards me to even think where the information came from."
Amelia huffed as she scrutinised him.
"He already despises you, Potter. I do not think it is wise to provoke him further."
"Ah, fuck Fudge," he said dismissively. "The man is an idiot and if he decides to come for me, then so be it. It will be him that is made to look even more of a fool, especially when he cannot refute the truth that will be printed."
Amelia chuckled as she stared at the boy before her. He cared not for the delicacy of politics. It was quite refreshing.
"Alright, Potter, I will give you what you want, but if this come back on me in any way, it will be me that comes for you," she warned.
"It will not and then perhaps you will get the additional funding you need, not just for what is happening."
Amelia released a deep breath.
"This is very risky…"
"And there's little reward where there is no risk," Harry countered.
"That is very true, I suppose, but…"
She stiffened briefly before withdrawing a leather case from her pocket and opening it.
"Bloody hell, another one," she grumbled.
"Another attack?"
She nodded as she stood.
"Werewolves. It's been reported by a wizard that lives there. They will be gone by the time we assemble and arrive; they always are."
"Where is it?" he asked as he stood.
She eyed him warily.
"I cannot tell you that, Potter."
"Then more people will die."
She swallowed deeply, torn between doing what was right and following the guidelines that had been instilled within her.
"It is a village on the south side of the Mersey river about four miles east of Runcorn. If you are caught, I will not bail you out."
Harry nodded but his wrist was gripped as he turned to leave.
"Here, this will get you there quicker," Bones offered as she hurriedly turned her glass into a portkey. "You will have about five minutes before the aurors arrive."
He took the glass and felt the familiar hooking sensation in his navel as he vanished from the pub.
Amelia could only stare at the spot he had just occupied, cursing herself for giving in to the boy. She had no doubt he could handle himself, but she had made a hasty decision, one she hoped she would not regret.
(Break)
The screams filled his ears as he landed in a back garden followed by frantic footsteps as people ran in all directions to escape the attackers. Not wanting to waste a precious moment, he flicked the Elder Wand into his hand, the coldness of the magic washing over him as he kicked a gate open that led him into an alleyway.
"I'VE GOT ONE," a male voice declared gleefully.
Only a dozen feet away, Harry saw a young woman beneath a large, unkempt man, his grizzled features illuminated by a lamppost above. With a wave of his wand, the metal creaked as it bent, seizing the attacker around the neck before returning to its original position.
The man wheezed as he dangled helplessly, his hands clawing desperately at the metal that was choking him.
Harry ignored him, he would be dead in a moment or so. He approached the trembling figure on the ground and pulled her to her feet.
"If you want to live, get out of here quickly," he urged.
She did not respond, her eyes bulging from fear and he shook her.
"Did you hear me? RUN!"
His raised voice snapped her out of her stupor, and she nodded before sprinting away. To where? He did not know but anywhere was better than here.
With the woman going, he sprinted to the end of the alley and onto what appeared to be the main road that passed through the village. In the short time the werewolves had been here, they had caused considerable devastation.
From where he stood, he could see several bodies, unmoving, having been left where they had been ravaged. Houses had been unceremoniously broken into and those that lived here were sprinting around aimlessly, running from a threat they did not understand.
With a snarl, a Puncturing Curse left his wand and felled another pursuer, the wound in his neck bleeding profusely as he grabbed it, attempting to stem the flow of blood that spurted between his fingers.
A loud bang sounding from a short distance away caught his attention and he wondered if the aurors had arrived already. If so, they were close but not close enough to make difference here. Several of the shabby, robed figures were still running freely, unconcerned about anything other than carrying out their perverse tendencies.
He proceeded along the main road, his pace quickening as he drew closer to where a large gathering of people was being herded and blocked in by a group of what he counted to be seven attackers.
Thinking quickly, he transfigured a broken picket fence nearby into a collection of sharpened projectiles and banished them towards the robed men and women.
Four of them fell victim to his onslaught, wailing as the spears pierced their bodies in various places.
"WIZARD!" one of the others shouted and the remaining three charged towards him.
Even in their natural form, the werewolves were impossibly fast, but they had made a severe error of judgement in their euphoria of the hunt. They barely made it ten feet before Harry fired a wall of purple fire at them, a spell that Tom had taught him.
It consumed them, and as the flames cleared, all that remained was three burnt and smoking husks that had only a few seconds prior been reckless creatures intent on causing harm.
They would harm no one else.
"YOU BASTARD!"
Harry turned to see perhaps the largest man other than Hagrid he had ever seen barrelling towards him, bare-chested, covered in blood and with a wand in hand.
His eyes were amber, and though it was not a full moon, his appearance was wolfish and not one he would ever forget.
A Severing Curse was sent his way and he batted it aside, the power behind the spell more than he was expecting. As such, he adjusted his stance, biding his time for the right moment to strike. This was not a run of the mill werewolf. He was a strong wizard and one he would need to be cautious of.
Another two curses careened towards him but were easily avoided and he silently urged the man to proceed closer, baiting him with a couple of Bludgeoning Curses of his own that the man blocked with a shield, his progress unhindered by the attack.
"I'll rip your fucking guts out," the behemoth snarled as he came within striking range and Harry unleashed another onslaught.
An array of colours illuminated the streets and the man bellowed as a Searing Curse scorched the front of his body leaving him horribly burnt. The bellow was not one of pain, however, but one of fury as he charged, aiming a swipe at the teens head with his gnarled claws.
Harry avoided the blow and struck out with a flame whip, the magic crackling as it lashed across the werewolf's back, eliciting a hiss of pain.
"You're good, boy, but not good enough," he jeered, running a finger along the fresh wound before wiping his own blood across his tongue. "It will take more than that to beat me."
His own wand snapped upwards and Harry felt his shield waver under the force of the Blasting Curse, though it held firm.
"Impossible," the werewolf declared.
"Not so much," Harry returned as he fired off a Blasting Curse of his own.
The shield of the werewolf did not withstand and he was sent several feet away across the gravel, a look of surprise marring his features.
Before he could right himself, he was swept up by a sudden gust of wind and lifted into the air. As quickly as it came, it vanished and he plummeted to the ground, several of his bones breaking on impact.
It mattered not, he could be healed from that quickly, but he soon came to realise that broken bones were the least of his problems. A flash of light in his periphery was the only warning he received before a fresh wave of agony lanced through him, his mouth opening in a silent scream.
He coughed as he came to his senses once more, his body twitching involuntarily from the lighting that had passed through him. He tasted blood in his mouth, and he turned to face the unfamiliar foe.
"Who are you, boy?"
"I am your end," was the callous answer he received as another curse was fired at him.
Harry watched as the man's chest split down the middle and opened like a set of crude doors, revealing his rhythmically beating heart. His breathing became rapid as Harry conjured a long, ornate spear, the tip made of silver.
Without hesitation, he drove the spear into the cavity and left it and the man behind as he experienced his final death throes, a death that was well-deserved as far as he was concerned.
He rushed off once more to where he could hear another flurry of activity a street or so over and another bang, the same as he had heard earlier, sounded. He frowned as he sprinted once more, rounding the corner as a startled voice announced the arrival of the aurors.
Those that remained of the attackers panicked and began fleeing and Harry readied himself to do the same, pausing when a familiar presence alerted him.
He turned towards where it was coming from, his own magic responding to it in a way he had not experienced before.
Cautiously, he approached the house that had been intruded upon and saw a sight he had not been expecting.
Huddled in the corner of the living room was Bellatrix, her eyes glassy as she clutched at her stomach. He watched her for a moment before approaching, shaking his head as she attempted to curse him, only to cry out as his own work on her came to fruition.
"No," she pleaded as he approached.
"Shh," he soothed as he crouched next to her. "Do you have a portkey?"
She nodded weakly as she reached around her neck, her eyes searching his own for any sign of recognition.
"I know you," she whispered.
"No, you don't," he countered as he reached into her robes and pulled out the pendant that was concealed within.
He placed it in her hand and gave her a nod of encouragement.
She hesitated for a few seconds, staring at him questioningly before she activated it and vanished, just in time for him to do the same.
The evening had not gone as planned but he felt a sense of accomplishment for helping the muggles here. If Fudge was not willing to acknowledge what was happening, attacks like this would continue.
He would not allow that. He could not be everywhere at once but if the opportunity arose, he would do as he had tonight, if only to ensure Voldemort had less followers when the time came for their inevitable confrontation.
(Break)
"What do we have, Dawlish?" Amelia barked as she arrived on the scene.
Dawlish pulled himself away from the muggles he had been speaking to and approached, his head shaking.
"A mess," he sighed. "We have fifteen dead muggles and eleven werewolves. These two," he continued as they began walking the length of the street, "were shot by a muggle with a gun."
Amelia grimaced at the mess the firearm had left behind.
"And the others?"
"The chap over there is the wizard that reported it," he explained, indicating a man dressed in his pyjamas talking to one of their colleagues. "He says that a wizard arrived out of nowhere and slaughtered them. He didn't get a good enough look to identify him, but he was adamant it was only one."
"He killed nine of them?"
Dawlish nodded gravely.
"It's not pretty either. Those lot over there were hit with some transfigured debris. We have two survivors from that group that will need treatment, but I think they will talk. They're bloody terrified by what they saw."
"What of the rest?"
Dawlish sighed.
"Another was killed with a Puncturing Curse, already dead when we found him. There's another hanging from the lamppost over there," he continued, pointing to where the body dangled limply from the muggle streetlight. "That's not all. You'll need to see it to believe, ma'am but if we find this person, he is due the twenty-thousand galleon reward."
Amelia frowned as Dawlish gestured for her to follow. He led her to where several aurors were looking upon a final body, this was considerably more gruesome than the others.
"Is that Greyback?" she whispered in disbelief.
"It is," Dawlish confirmed. "The witnesses said a duel broke out between him and the mystery wizard. You can see the results for yourself."
"Merlin," Amelia whispered.
She doubted Potter even knew the favour he had done to the wizarding world by eliminating Fenrir Greyback. He had been wanted by many countries for decades but had thus far eluded capture and left many dead in his wake.
"I don't know whether to be fuming or bloody buy the sod a pint," Dawlish mused aloud. "I mean, what do we do when we find him?"
"We do nothing for now," Amelia decided, "not until we know all the facts."
Dawlish nodded his agreement.
"Who the hell could have done this, Amelia?"
"I have no idea but whoever it was has done more to solve this problem in less than ten minutes than we have in the past month."
"Fudge will not like it."
"And what will he have to complain about? He has ignored these werewolf attacks, it's not like he can do it now, not with this much evidence."
Dawlish snorted.
"He will find an excuse. The git is full of them."
Amelia was under no illusions that he was wrong. She wasn't fond of Dawlish, but he was one of the best she had working below her and appreciated his dedication to the job. He too was frustrated with the current administration having experienced better ones in the past.
"He will," she agreed. "For now, get this cleaned up and the obliviators here. The last thing these lot need to remember is anything that happened tonight."
"Of course," Dawlish complied. "Would you like to interview the witnesses?"
"When they are ready, have them put in the cells and let them sweat overnight. I will speak to them in the morning."
Dawlish nodded and left to carry out his tasks.
Amelia surveyed the damage around her. Had Potter not been here, it would have been much worse, and she would have once again found herself watching over her colleagues as they cleaned up what remained of victims of these attacks.
She didn't know whether to be angry with the boy herself, or as Dawlish had rightfully done, offer to buy him a drink. Either way, he had proven himself to be effective and any reluctance she felt at having given him the portkey here had all but faded.
Now, she was curious to see how he would comport himself when dealing with the media. She remembered vaguely the apology to him the prophet had printed the previous year, and if he had half as much success with them this time around, the entire country would soon know of the danger that was lurking in the shadows.
She felt herself relax at the thought. If people could accept what was out there, half the battle she currently faced would be won. All that would be left was for the Minister to get off his backside and do the same.
(Break)
"Move aside," Voldemort demanded as came into the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor, his peace having been disturbed by the raised voices. "What has happened to Bella?" he asked as he took note of her sprawled across the floor.
"My lord?" she whispered as he knelt next to her.
"It's me, Bella," he answered, cupping the back of her head in his hand.
She was in a bad way. Her eyes were glazed over and she winced in pain when she attempted to move.
"Stay still," he instructed. "Where is the damned healer?"
"I'm here, my lord," the man announced, taking a knee next to them.
The Dark Lord watched as he began muttering under his breath, his wand waving in intricate patterns and a deep scowl of concentration marring his features.
"Well?"
The healer sighed and shook his head.
"There does not appear to be anything wrong with her, my lord," he answered. "She has not been cursed, there is no foreign magic within her, and she has not been administered any potions."
"There has to be something," Voldemort growled. "She has not been well since I retrieved her. You will find it and fix it, or your services will no longer be required."
The man swallowed and nodded.
"Of c-course, my lord," he stuttered and levitated the woman before taking her through to where he carried out his work.
"What happened," Voldemort demanded.
"My Lord, we were attacked," one of Fenrir's werewolves informed him. "A wizard. He just appeared and started throwing spells around."
Voldemort frowned, his waxen features pulling the thin skin around his eyes taut.
"You were bested by one wizard?"
"He caught us by surprise…"
Voldemort waved for the creature to be silent.
"I do not want your excuses. Where is Fenrir?" he asked, looking for the large man.
"D-dead, my lord," the werewolf stuttered. "I saw him killed by the wizard."
The Dark Lord glared at the man but saw no lies in his words. Greyback's loss would cause problems within the pack, and in turn, problems for himself. If they were fighting amongst themselves to decide their new alpha, they would be of little use to him.
"And the others?"
"Also, dead, my lord. It was just the wizard until the aurors arrived."
Voldemort took a deep breath to quell the rage that was surfacing.
"I want all of your memories of what happened tonight," he instructed, to which they nodded their compliance. "None of you were foolish enough to set off the mark?"
"No, my lord."
"Then all is not lost," he muttered. "Think yourselves fortunate, now, get out of my sight."
The gathered followers dispersed quickly, and he followed in the footsteps of the healer and headed to where Bellatrix would be being tended to.
Something was wrong with her, and as much as he had tried to attribute it to her stay in Azkaban, it was clear that it went beyond that. Something had been done to her and he was determined to find out what that was.
"How is she?" he asked as he entered the room.
"S-sleeping, my lord," the healer answered. "I gave her some dreamless sleep and a restorative draught. Until we know what is wrong, it is the best I can do for her."
Voldemort nodded appreciatively.
As skilled as he was in magic, he was no healer and had need of the man before him.
"What could be wrong with her?"
The man sighed as he shook his head.
"The only thing I have not checked for is a mental ailment and I am loath to do so with one so skilled in Occlumency. It could be very dangerous for both of us if an error was made."
"Of course," Voldemort agreed.
The mind arts were not something to be taken lightly and took years to master. Bellatrix had dedicated herself to them since she had been a child and there were very few with the ability to match.
"It can't be a mental problem," he mused aloud. "Even I cannot breach her shields and there is none that can compare to me in Legilimency."
"Then I am at a loss," the man mumbled. "The only other thing that I can fathom would be a rather poorly concocted ritual that has backfired spectacularly."
"A ritual?" Voldemort questioned.
"It is possible that she has completed one in the past. She is a Black by birth, is she not?"
Voldemort nodded.
"It is certainly not beyond the realms of possibility that they have their own type of that magic."
"No, it is not," the Dark Lord muttered thoughtfully, "and it would not register as foreign magic."
"No, but if that is what has happened then it could be exceptionally dangerous for her if we were to attempt to break it. The Black's are not known for the friendliest things."
Voldemort sighed, not relishing his ever-growing problems.
"Do you have experience of dealing with ritualistic magic?"
The healer shook his head.
"I do not, my lord. For that, you would need a specialist in the field, and they are few and far between," he explained. "It is not something we encounter often."
The Dark Lord nodded his understanding.
Rituals were a very complex and exact art and difficult to reverse. Such a thing would not come without a cost and he hoped that they were mistaken, that their latest thoughts on the matter would prove to be false.
"I suppose there is only one way to find out," he declared as he drew his wand.
The healer's eyes widened, and he stepped in front of him, his hands held up placatingly.
"My lord, I must advise against what you are planning. We cannot be sure just how dangerous this could be."
Voldemort pushed the man aside irritably.
"Do not hinder me, you fool," he spat.
The cowed healer merely stared at him worriedly though said nothing else as he approached her slumbering form and tentatively placed his wand against her temple.
For the first time in many years, he felt nervous. The magic of the Blacks was not something to be taken lightly and not something he had much experience of. Once upon a time, he had thought that Bella or even Regulus would be able tot each him, but such a thing was not to be.
When a member of the house began their education in the family magic, they were subjected to several oaths which meant the knowledge could not be shared with outsiders.
At the time, he had been disappointed, but he had gotten over it. He knew more than enough magic that the loss was not one he would miss. Now, however, that knowledge could be key.
Steeling himself, he began mumbling, his eyes closed as he felt for the magic within her. After several moments, he had yet to identify anything untoward and was readying himself to cease his efforts when something brushed across his own magic, sending a shiver down his spine. It was the minutest of tingles, but he had felt it.
Taking another deep breath, he searched for it once more and soon found it, the magic offering little effort to conceal itself from him now. He frowned as it thrummed against his presence almost challengingly.
Bracing himself for what may come, he prodded it gently only for it to prod back much harder, sending him crashing into the wall several feet away and the room blackening around him, the final thing he heard being a somewhat familiar pleading scream.