Chapter 18
CwD
September 28th, 1996
"Ouch!" Tracey yelped, jerking her hand back and sending a sharp glare at Lily, who returned it with equal heat. "What was that for?!"
"For standing there gawking like a lump, you twit! Now, are you going to help me with this or not?!"
"I can't help it!" Tracey replied heatedly. "Just look at them, Lils! They're bloody synchronised!"
Lily's scowl faltered as she turned her attention to the pair across the table.
Daphne stood poised over a steaming cauldron, the rising vapour wreathing around her like a shroud. Every few seconds, she gave the potion a smooth, measured stir with her ladle, then, without pause, scribbled a note on the parchment beside her.
The uncanny part, though, the bit that made Tracey's comment almost reverent, was what followed:
Each time Daphne lifted her hand, palm open in silent expectation, Harry, without needing to glance up from his textbook, dropped the next ingredient into her waiting grasp. She added it to the brew without so much as a glance, and the rhythm continued.
Stir, scribble, hand up, ingredient, repeat and not a single word was said.
Tracey leaned closer to Lily, voice lowered just enough to make it clear she wanted to be overheard.
"You know," she began, with a sly grin, "this is exactly what that Witch Weekly column was talking about two weeks ago, remember? 'Undeniable chemistry between Lord Potter and the eldest daughter of the Ancient House of Greengrass'."
"Will you focus already?" Lily rolled her eyes, returning her attention back her cauldron.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you two were hiding a secret love affair." Tracey teased, giggling behind her hand as she rose her eyebrows up and down at Harry and Daphne suggestively,
There was a beat.
Daphne held her hand out. Harry dropped a sliver of shrivelfig into it. She stirred, unbothered.
Then, without looking up, they both said at the exact same moment:
"We're not."
"Wow…" Tracey blinked owlishly. "It's like you're both soul-bonded! Fate chosen! Written in the stars!"
Daphne scribbled something on her parchment. Harry turned a page. The potion gave a lazy bubble.
"Don't be dumb, Davis." They both said mechanically.
The brunette pouted.
" – Five more minutes, brewers!" Slughorn exclaimed from the front of the class. "Now is the time to begin pouring your potions into your glass bottles – not too much now, Mr Macmillan, unless you are planning on bathing in it, oho!"
Harry adjusted the flame beneath the cauldron with a flick of his wand. "And that should it then," he murmured with a sigh. "We're done."
Daphne sat the ladle aside and shot him a small smile. "Be a sweetheart and pour the potion, will you?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Grab the stopper."
" – And the dream team finishes first again!" Slughorn boomed behind them, his voice reaching every corner of the classroom. "Excellent work as always, you two."
"Thank you Professor," the two replied stiffly.
The moment Slughorn turned his attention elsewhere and the rest of the class descended into hurried chaos; Daphne nudged the glass stopper into place and tapped the bottle with her wand to seal it.
"Let's go tidy up," she said quietly.
The young Lord agreed silently and gathered their tools. Daphne collected the empty ingredient jars and followed him toward the ingredients cabinet tucked away in the corner of the dungeon.
The hurried commotion from the rest of the class cloaked the pair, giving them just enough privacy.
"I feel like its fault," Harry said as they reached the ingredient cabinet.
Daphne didn't look at him. They were standing shoulder to shoulder, shelving unused bundles of dried root and neatly stacking jars of crushed beetle shells.
"The letter to the Potions Department?" She queried quietly.
He nodded.
"And tell me exactly how it's your fault that our request to brew the Aetherial Draught was rejected?"
"The letter…" Harry pursed his lips. "Who signed off on it again?"
Daphne tilted her head, thinking. "Evan Rosier, if I remember."
His eyes darkened. "Mmm."
She nudged her shoulder with his, catching the shift in his expression.
"What is it?"
"Evan Rosier's a Death Eater. One I've had… history with." Harry exhaled slowly. "He's the one who caused that scene at the end of the Gala, remember? If he saw my name on the application, he probably didn't even read the rest."
Daphne's eyebrows shot up. She briefly turned her head to ensure no one was fixated on them before turning back to Harry.
"But how? He's not with the ICW. He only works in the Potions Department at the British Ministry. He shouldn't even have the authority to block international clearance."
"Not officially," Harry agreed sourly, "but people like him don't act alone. Nott… or even Malfoy. Either one of them likely pulled some strings. Unlike Rosier, they actually do have ICW sway. Fucking scumbags."
"Language." Daphne muttered absently. Brow furrowed, she went quiet for a while whilst returning the last jar to its shelf.
"What are you thinking?"
Daphne let out a sigh, pressing down her foot gently on top of his. "I'm thinking that it's not your fault, idiot. We'll just have to pick another potion. One that doesn't have such regulations."
"You're not upset?" Harry began, swivelling his head so he was looking down at her intensely. "You – You were really looking forward to brewing it."
"Can't do much about it," the blonde shrugged helplessly. "I suppose I'm used to it."
"Used to what?"
She turned to him with a faint smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Things not working out."
The words hung between them, heavier than they should've been. Harry's face went unreadable. Their eyes held, and for a moment, it felt like time stalled.
Then the bell chimed.
Daphne broke the gaze first. "We should head back," she murmured.
Harry gave a slow nod.
They returned to their table in silence, falling into step with the rest of the class as everyone packed up.
"We'll have to ask Slughorn for an extension – "
" – I'll handle it." Harry said, cutting her off. "I've got to speak to him about something anyway."
Daphne raised an eyebrow as she carefully placed her toolkit in her bag. "About what?"
"To see if I can get a new partner…"
Her head snapped toward him. Eyes wide, mouth open.
And then she caught the insufferable grin tugging at his lips.
"I hate you," the blonde hissed quietly, her cheeks reddening as she kicked him in the shin.
Harry winced but didn't stop smiling. "You adore me."
Daphne turned her nose up with exaggerated grace. "Hardly."
He chuckled. "Not going to ask again?"
"I don't care."
He rolled his eyes. "I'll tell you later."
She shot him a glance from the corner of her eye. "Promise?"
Harry scrunched his nose at her. "Promise."
Daphne mirrored their familiar gesture cutely, her earlier annoyance all but disappearing.
"Daphne, hurry it up, will you!" Tracey's voice rang from the classroom door. Beside her, Lily was tapping her wrist above her head gesticulating that they were short on time.
"Runes?"
"Mmm," she replied, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder. "Bathsheda starts off every week with a quiz, tedious thing."
"Sounds rough."
"Hardly," Daphne smirked from over her shoulder. "See you around, Potter."
Harry watched her go, his eyes drifting to the swing of her hips to her pale, long legs.
Merlin almighty.
He blinked rapidly. No tights this time either.
Harry didn't know if she forego them deliberately because she knew the effect her bare legs had on him or if she actually didn't feel like wearing them.
Knowing her, it was definitely the former.
Clever girl.
As Daphne crossed the threshold to join them, Harry's gaze caught on another figure lurking just beyond them – half-shrouded in the archway's shadow.
Cassius Warrington.
The broad-shouldered Slytherin stood with his hands tucked loosely in his pockets, leaning against the stone arch with the casual arrogance of someone used to owning every room he walked into. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze tracked Daphne with cool intensity.
Harry's jaw instinctively tensed.
He remembered what Daphne had told him last week – how Cassius had been told, by both his and her father, to escort her between classes until the Witch Weekly rumours about her and Harry had blown over.
Apparently, today was one of those days.
Daphne hadn't been subtle about how much she resented it. She was however adamant that during meal times, she would continue to sit with her sisters – much to the little twerp's annoyance – and that the arrangement didn't extend beyond the classroom schedule. This meant that their after-class time was still theirs.
That small fact had brought Harry more relief than he cared to admit.
He wouldn't agree and say he absolutely loved the time they spent together no matter what Daphne claimed but he couldn't deny that their time together was a sort of escape.
His schedule never changed.
He'd drag himself out of bed, some days worse than others, haul himself to the Room of Requirement first thing and begin his exercises. Then he'd go about the typical school day before returning back to the same place he started.
This time however, he'd train and go through his exercises again but with an audience.
And Daphne… there was never a time she took her eyes off him. The silly girl even had the nerve to try and give him, of all people, advice on how to duel more beautifully – her words.
They'd bicker constantly, they'd laugh, they'd tease, they'd flirt, they'd study. Each night had the same components but in a different order. Daphne never failed to keep him on his toes and he appreciated her for that. Not like he'd spend time with someone who he didn't enjoy their company, after all.
Cassius straightened slightly as Daphne approached, and Harry's eyes locked with his across the classroom.
Neither looked away.
The noise of the dungeon dimmed in Harry's ears. All he could hear was the thrum of his own magic; his wand softly vibrating against his forearm as if it could sense the tension and wanted to be unleashed.
Cassius didn't smirk, didn't sneer. The older boy's face was expressionless as Daphne wordlessly joined him by his side.
And then Harry saw Cassius' lips move.
You're late. I don't like to be kept waiting –
The green-eyed teen narrowed his eyes at the way Daphne's shoulders tensed ever so slightly whilst Cassius droned on. Just as the pair, with Tracey and Lily walking a few paces in front of them, went out of view, the blonde glanced over her shoulder.
And winked.
Strands of her golden hair fluttered across her face, caught by the subtle breeze of the dungeon's open archway. Her ponytail, slightly messy in that effortlessly deliberate way, framed the curve of her jaw and the amused quirk of her lips as if she knew something he didn't.
Harry stood frozen in place, staring after her, still staring at the now-empty doorway when footsteps approached behind him.
"Mate," Ron called, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Mind if we pop to the kitchens before we head up? I feel like I could eat a cow."
"Ron…" began Hermione in a disapproving tone. "We just had lunch."
The ginger rolled his eyes. "That was one whole hour ago, Hermione. Who knew using so much of your brain starves you out."
"You were like this even before you took your studies seriously," she huffed before turning to Harry. "Well, I'm off to Ancient Runes. Meet up at the common room before dinner…?"
Harry nodded absentmindedly.
"Harry?"
"Mmm," he replied, still slightly distracted before turning to her. "Common room. Got it."
Hermione frowned at him for a second before shrugging.
"Don't eat too much!" She exclaimed on her way out.
"Actually Ron, go on without me," Harry said after Hermione had left, placing his copy of the Advanced Potion-Making in his bag. "Just remembered that I need to speak to Slughorn about something."
Ron smiled wryly. "S'good you waited. Merlin knows Hermione gets antsy whenever Greengrass is involved."
Harry raised an amused eyebrow. "And who said it's about Greengrass?"
"Well why else do you want to speak to old Slughorn?"
"The Potions Project actually."
Ron snorted. "So, Greengrass then. What? She not letting you do anything?"
"Something like that," Harry chuckled.
"Figured. She's a Slytherin. It's either their way or no way."
Oddly, Ron wasn't entirely wrong…
"Ballet Slippers or Bordeaux?"
Harry blinked up at her owlishly from his spot on the sofa. "Excuse me?"
Daphne huffed. "Ballet Slippers or – "
"No, no. I heard you the first time… I just need, uh, context."
The blonde looked down at him as if he was dim. "My new nail polish, Potter. I'm asking you what colour I should paint my nails."
Now Harry was truly confused.
"Can I see the colours, please?"
Daphne pulled out two vials and handed it over to them, not before she forcefully squeezed herself in between him and the arm of the sofa.
"My legs were aching waiting for you to make a decision." She replied to his raised eyebrow, sticking her nose in the air.
Rolling his eyes, Harry looked at the vials and mentally sighed.
"This one," he picked, holding out 'Ballet Slippers'. "It's nice."
The blonde shot him an incredulous look before snatching the Bordeaux vial from his hands. "Honestly…"
"What's wrong with Ballet Slippers?"
"We're in Autumn."
"Nail polish is seasonal?"
"Duh. Now be a good boy and hold this whilst I put it on and don't you dare spill it. Almost bid my entire allowance for this month trying to win this."
Now it was Harry's turn to look at her incredulously whilst he dutifully held the vial. "You had to bid for it?"
"It was a limited edition and there was only one left and I was certainly not going to lose to that slag Ropier."
"I'll wait for you outside," Ron continued, bringing back Harry to the present. "Don't take too long though. I mentioned I could eat a cow…"
Once he had gone, Harry turned and crossed the room.
Slughorn was at his desk, humming cheerfully to himself as he scribbled something onto a scroll, his plum-coloured robes bunched up around him like a collapsed armchair. When he saw Harry coming towards him, he beamed brightly.
"Ah! Harry, my boy! Brilliant job today, brilliant. That Draught of Peace variant was textbook work. You and Miss Greengrass really are something else."
Harry placed his and Daphne's completed potion with the others and smiled politely. "Thank you, Professor. Actually, I wanted to ask you about something if that's alright?"
Slughorn's eyes twinkled as he leaned back into his chair. "Ask away, dear boy! Ask away!"
"You mentioned once," Harry said casually, "that you taught a few members of my family."
"Which ones?" The old man responded coyly before laughing. "Oh yes! Both the Potters and Blacks. Terrors and marvels, all in one. Care to guess who was who?"
Despite himself, Harry couldn't help but smile genuinely. "Potters the terrors?"
"If only you were there." The man sighed dramatically. "Your father was definitely the reason why my hair is so thin. Both figuratively and literally!"
"I hear that often about him." Harry said, chuckling.
"Certainly not unfounded! Seven years of mayhem, pranks, and charm. There was not one professor that didn't have a bone to pick with him! And Sirius of course… the two were inseparable." Slughorn chuckled fondly. "Though I do hear you're not too indifferent from them yourself?"
"When I need to be."
"Ah ha! Spoken just like Lily," Slughorn laughed, eyes crinkling, until his laugh softened toward the end. His gaze drifted toward a small, ornate bowl on his shelf – empty but treated as though it once held something precious. "Lovely Lily."
There was a beat of silence before Harry asked quietly, "And what about Andromeda?"
Slughorn's attention snapped back. He smiled, more gently now. "Andromeda was a marvel. Like Lily, she was one of the sharpest brewers I ever taught. Elegant with her wand, exact with her measurements. Could have written textbooks, that one. She had to be, really, given the field she went into. Demanding work, healing. And after everything with her family..." He sighed, then added with a wry smile, "I always regretted not catching Sirius. Would've been poetic – three generations of the infamous Blacks, all mine."
"I heard it caused quite an uproar."
The rotund man gave a weary little laugh. "That's putting it mildly. Walburga Black all but stormed the castle, demanding he be resorted, furious he ended up in Gryffindor. Arcturus wasn't pleased either. Said it was an affront to bloodline tradition. Only settled once Phineas Nigellus himself weighed in. I remember it taking weeks for the howlers to stop."
"Still, despite being sorted into Gryffindor and his proclivities to mischief, he was incredibly bright in all his subjects. Potions included. It's a shame what transpired in his… adult years." He finished quietly.
Harry pursed his lips, his temper flaring but he managed to keep it in check.
"You seem to have taught rather gifted students, Professor. Over the years, I mean." He said carefully.
Slughorn puffed up, always happy to be complimented. "Oh yes! You've seen my collection, haven't you, my boy? Not a single soul on that shelf who wasn't brilliant in their own right!"
Harry nodded absently. His hand dipped behind his back, wand slipping between his fingers with a practiced ease. A silent swish, a subtle flick and a soft shimmer brushed the room's edges as a privacy ward settled over them.
The air shifted. Not cold, exactly, but still. Expectant.
Harry drifted toward the far corner of the room, to where the curious, empty fishbowl sat. Slughorn's eyes followed, his joviality dimming as the teen ran a finger along the rim. The water – if it could be called that – shimmered faintly at his touch.
"I couldn't help but notice," Harry said, his voice quiet, "that Tom Riddle wasn't on your shelf, Professor."
Slughorn froze. Harry could practically hear the swallow in his throat as he turned to the older man. "You knew him, didn't you?"
"Ah… yes. Tom. Another Slytherin. Very gifted. Quiet lad. Brilliant mind."
"Very gifted indeed."
Slughorn placed his quill down, his eyes staring down onto the table. "Back then he was an exceptional boy. Focused, charming, ambitious to a fault. If… If the darkness was within, then it was buried deep."
The teen watched the tension in Slughorn's face. The man clutched his desk as though anchoring himself to it.
Then, with a quiet sigh, Harry let his shoulders drop and softened his voice.
"Forgive me, Professor. I didn't mean to bring up anything painful. He tends to have that effect on people whether he's in the room or not."
Slughorn blinked, then looked up. When he caught the apologetic smile on Harry's face, he released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding and sagged back into his chair.
"It's quite alright, Harry. Perfectly natural you'd be curious."
Harry offered a small nod and glanced once more at the bowl. The surface rippled faintly again.
"If I may… this fishbowl. There's something unusual about it."
Slughorn followed his gaze and, for a moment, said nothing. Then his expression softened with a weary fondness.
"Yes… perhaps the most profound gift I've ever received." His voice turned misty. "Lily, your mother. She gave it to me on the day of her graduation."
Harry's eyes snapped to Slughorn as he nodded sadly. "You're likely feeling the remnants of her magic. It's permanently transfigured, you see. A clever bit of ingenuity… your mother never did do anything by halves…"
"There's no fish…"
Slughorn looked as if he had aged fifty years. "No… not anymore."
The silence that followed stretched, but Harry didn't push. He could tell there was something deeper and though he wanted to muscle on, he knew he had to be careful.
Dumbledore was right… Slughorn is on the brittle side.
He turned his gaze back to the fish bowl and his eyes gleamed against the reflection in the water.
Perhaps there is a way after all…
Harry let the thought go and stepped back. "I didn't mean to take up so much of your time, Professor. I'll let you get back to it."
Slughorn smiled, though it didn't have his earlier youthfulness. "You're always welcome, m'boy."
Harry offered a quiet nod and slipped out, letting the door click softly shut behind him. Ron was waiting for him, leaning against the wall, his arms folded.
"Complained a lot then?" Ron asked as Harry approached.
Harry didn't answer right away. He rubbed the tips of his fingers together with his thumb, feeling the residual magic of his mother lingering around pleasantly.
"Trust me, Ron… there was a lot more I wanted to say."
CwD
September 29th, 1996
Cough! Cough!
"Perfectly normal – "
" – This is fucking disgusting," Harry muttered, glaring at the cigarette between his fingers like it had personally insulted him.
"It's an acquired taste, Potter." Blaise smirked, exhaling a lazy trail of smoke.
They were back on the Astronomy Tower again, both leaning over the cold stone railing as the sky bled orange and gold, the sun dipping toward the horizon.
"So, what did you find out?" Harry asked after a moment.
"Who said I found out anything?"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Sorry to break it to you Zabini, but like I said before, I don't swing that way, so if this is your idea of a date – "
" – Fuck off, Potter." Blaise said, rolling his eyes, though his lips twitched. His smirk faded a moment later. "I've got nothing."
"You've got… nothing?"
"Nothing."
Harry frowned. "I don't understand."
Blaise sighed. "Slytherin politics isn't like Gryffindor hallway gossip. You can't just walk in and start asking questions especially if you want to stay out of the limelight. Whoever's pulling strings is doing it quietly. Deliberately. They're not like Draco, who needed everyone to see him posturing.
"At first I thought it was Nott, Theodore Nott," the dark-skinned teen continued, flicking the cigarette in his hand and watching the ash float away, "but he's too much of a bitch to tangle in anything remotely confrontational."
"Could it be a front?" Harry asked. "Quiet ones usually are."
"Possibly. If he's anything like his father, then the likelihood is definitely there. Then again, if you're going with that logic, you could say the same about anyone in Slytherin."
"Draco being the exception?"
"Draco being the exception." Blaise agreed amusedly.
"An older student then?"
Blaise shook his head. "Currently, no younger or older student has the money or reputation to control Slytherin."
"Warrington then?"
"Cassius Warrington certainly has the magical power, sure," Blaise agreed, "but he has no political backing. Why do you think his family loiters around the Greengrass' so much?"
Harry blinked. "I assumed that it was because of Dap – because of the betrothal between him and Greengrass."
"You'd be right," Blaise said, resting his elbows on the railing, "but no betrothal contract is ironclad. The Warringtons are no doubt banking on that marriage to elevate their house. If it goes through, Lord Warrington gets a seat at the table. With Lord Greengrass' connections, he'll be rubbing shoulders with the old families in no time."
"And what do the Greengrass' get in return?"
"Well, if Cassius' father is anything like his son, perhaps protection?" Blaise surmised. "But it could be anything. The Warringtons are an established magical family but relatively nothing is known about Lord Warrington or is his bloodline. Only that he's got ties to Sweden."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "How do you know so much?"
Blaise shrugged. "I need to. Like you, they're being invited to my grandfather's estate in December. Everyone gets vetted."
"So, you've been checking up on me as well, then?" Harry drawled.
"A little." The dark-skinned boy replied cryptically. "Only on the Blacks side, mind you. The Potter's history is so shrouded in mystery that there's barely anything out there…"
"We're a secretive bunch."
"Throw me a bone?"
"No."
Blaise snorted and vanished the stub of his cigarette with a flick of his wand. "I'll keep listening. If something turns up, I'll let you know."
He turned, coat rustling in the breeze, and started walking toward the exit, leaving Harry behind in the fading light.
CwD
September 30th, 1996
"You are lucky that spell didn't take your arm off, Potter! Honestly! What am I going to do with you?! The pair of you?!"
Harry cursed loudly when Madam Pomfrey stretched the bandage tightly over his bicep. Dumbledore chuckled from behind her, only to clear his throat when the matron turned and shot him a withering glare.
"Forgive me, m'boy," Dumbledore offered, his aged eyes twinkling. "I may have added… a touch too much power to that last spell."
"A touch too much?!" Madam Pomfrey snapped. "That was enough magic to have blown through a tree trunk – never mind a scrawny arm like his!"
"Hey! My arm is not scrawny!" Harry protested, then hissed as she gave the bandage another brutal tug. "Merlin almighty – pull it a bit tighter, why don't you?"
"You, be quiet! This pain is nothing compared to the stress you both put me through whilst I was watching that – that… death dance! I had reservations about this, Albus. And now look! It's clear that this is far too dangerous!"
"Don't I get a say in this?" Harry tried.
" – No!"
Dumbledore sighed, threading his fingers through his long beard. "Alas, my dear, this level is unfortunately necessary."
Madam Pomfrey folded her arms. "I don't like this, Albus. I don't like this one bit. Not when he's limping in here with smoke trailing off his clothes and his arm struggling to stay attached to the rest of him – you wipe that grin off your face, you careless child!"
"I didn't do anything." Harry responded innocently.
"You're worse than your father," she muttered.
Dumbledore leaned in as Madam Pomfrey bustled away. "I must say, quick thinking on that localised shield charm, Harry. You would've blocked the curse entirely if you were just a tad quicker."
"I didn't expect it," Harry winced. "Countering your transfigurations is one thing but when you sneak in those monstrous curses; it quickly gets overwhelming – "
"Just as how Tom would've done it," Dumbledore said gently. "That's why we start here. Countering this level of battle transfigurations is essential. Then, once you can hold off multiple, layered attacks, we'll move on to the more… dangerous magic."
"Drink," Pomfrey barked, reappearing with two smoking goblets.
Dumbledore took his and drank in a single gulp, sighing contently as he conjured a comfortable armchair and sank into it like a man on holiday.
"That looks bloody disgusting – "
"Drink." Her tone brooked no argument.
Harry eyed the goblet with distaste. Muttering under his breath, he forced it down in one go, nearly gagging.
"Ugh…" He shivered as the warmth of the potion spread through his limbs and turned to Dumbledore who had his eyes closed. "Why can't we just start with the dangerous magic?"
"Because there's an order to these things, Harry," Dumbledore said, opening his eyes. "Tom is not just powerful. He's complete. When brute force fails, he blends magic – layers curses over transfigurations, charms over hexes. That's how he keeps the upper hand no matter who he is up against."
Harry exhaled through his nose. "So, we start with transfigurations and charms… and build up from there."
Dumbledore smiled. "Defence first. Offence later. Why is that?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Because another day alive is another victory."
"And who doesn't enjoy victory, eh?" The old man beamed.
Harry leaned back against the infirmary bed, flexing his sore arm beneath the fresh bandage. The sting was fading, but the ache ran deeper than the skin.
Four lessons in, and he still felt like he was barely keeping his head above the water.
Dumbledore's lessons wasn't like Flitwick's sessions at all. Those had been controlled, methodical. The duelling master had broken spells and technique down to the bone and drilled them into Harry until they became second nature.
Moody, on the other hand, had sharpened his reflexes, dodging hexes at breakfast, waking him up with silent curses just to keep him paranoid. But mainly, he taught him about the Death Eaters.
"Crafty bunch…" the scarred wizard would mutter. "Each more different than the other… you best keep your wits about you, Potter. Constant vigilance! They were all hand-picked by You-Know-Who for a reason!"
In Dumbledore's lessons… the old man did not hold back.
Every week was a storm. Sometimes literally.
Dumbledore's attacks came without warning, each spell meant to teach him exactly how unprepared he still was in front of the true titans of magic. There was no pause for explanation, no room to breathe. That was later… usually when Harry would be laying on his back exhausted and heavily injured whilst Dumbledore stood opposite him – his wand smoking.
But there was one truth: Voldemort wouldn't wait for him to catch up.
Harry ran a hand through his hair. He could feel his eyes beginning to feel heavy. He shot a look towards Madam Pomfrey who raised an eyebrow.
"You need adequate rest," she said sternly.
"Lacing potions is illegal, Poppy." Harry mumbled, settling into his bed more comfortably. "Say something, old man."
Dumbledore chuckled heartily behind the tome in his hand whilst Madam Pomfrey huffed. "A side effect of the Revitalisation Draught, I believe. Though I do believe yours was slightly stronger than mine."
Harry hummed as he closed his eyes; his limbs starting to lose feeling. "Don't you have headmastery stuff to do than just sit here?"
"Precisely why I am here, m'boy. I'll no doubt be forced to attend to my duties the moment I return to my office and at my age, a little peace and quiet will do me no harm."
The teen smiled at that, allowing his body to relax.
He was supposed to meet with Daphne like usual after his sessions with Dumbledore.
Looks like I'll be missing that… hopefully she's not too mad.
Harry snorted inwardly.
An image drifted into his mind: Daphne stomping her foot, arms crossed, glaring at him like he'd just insulted her favourite designer like that one time when he did.
She truly was an odd little thing.
I wonder what she's up to –
Knock, knock.
"Oh?" Madam Pomfrey turned toward the closed doors, brows knitting. "Wonder who that could be…"
Knock, knock, knock!
"In a moment!"
"Expecting anyone, Poppy?" Dumbledore asked as he turned a page.
"Not at this time of the day," the matron replied over her shoulder before opening the doors. "Mister Longbottom! And… Miss Abbott and Miss Bones – "
Harry cracked one eye open. Through the slightly parted curtains, he could just make out the three of them standing awkwardly at the threshold.
"What can I do for you three – ? Miss Bones… looking rather pale, aren't you?" Madam Pomfrey frowned, pressing her hand on the girl's forehead. "No fever… whatever is the matter, my dear?"
Susan shivered. Trying to speak, she opened her mouth only to close it.
"She's been like that for the past hour, Madam Pomfrey." Hannah piped up worryingly. "We were just coming back from the Greenhouses when she clammed up all of a sudden."
"Maybe she touched something," Neville offered uncertainly. "Could it have been one of the plants? Professor Sprout recently got those Sunstone Petals from Jamaica. Their pollen are known to be particularly harsh."
Madam Pomfrey was already flicking her wand through a practiced set of diagnostics, her frown deepening with each one.
"Her magic is erratic," she muttered. "So much so, I can't get a proper reading." With a sharp flick of her wand, a small vial zipped into her hand. "A Calming Draught, dear. It should help stabilise you until we know more. Albus! A moment, please!"
Dumbledore closed the tome he'd been reading and offered Harry a wink before rising. Parting the curtains, he made his way over; Neville, Susan and Hannah stiffening as they saw him.
"Headmaster!" Hannah squeaked.
"And a good evening to you too, Miss Abbot, Mr Longbottom." Dumbledore greeted warmly before turning his full attention to Susan. "Now then, Miss Bones… tell me what you're feeling."
Susan gulped. She pulled her arms around her and looked toward the floor. "C-Cold, sir. A-and… d-d-dread."
Across the room, Harry, who was listening into the conversation, narrowed his eyes before sitting up.
Something felt wrong.
Every fibre of his being was telling him something was wrong and Harry hadn't survived this long by ignoring his instincts.
No… something indeed was seriously wrong.
His body protested ardently, the lingering potion fog and the tight ache in his arm screamed at him but he forced himself onto his feet and opened the curtains.
"Harry!" Neville exclaimed in surprise. "M-Merlin… what happened to you?"
"Mr Potter!" Madam Pomfrey hissed. "I told you to stay in bed!"
"Later," Harry said shortly, brushing past her. He crossed to where the group had gathered just as Dumbledore placed a gentle hand on Susan's shoulder, eyes closed in concentration.
Ignoring Madam Pomfrey's fretting over his bandaged arm, he turned his sights to Neville who was looking anywhere but at him.
"Neville."
The boy flinched.
"What happened?"
"I-I don't know," Neville stammered, eyes darting between Susan and Hannah. "We were just coming back from Greenhouse One when Susan just stopped walking."
"You didn't see anything?" Harry asked, sharper than he intended. "Not even a shimmer? A pull in the air?"
At first Harry had thought some idiot had cursed the redhead no doubt to get back at her famous aunt, Madam Bones. For a second, his mind even ventured to the possibility that Draco might've done something before he brushed that thought away.
Even though no one would be foolish enough to outright attack a member of a house nearly as old as the Blacks, Harry could not guarantee someone else may have had some ulterior motive he didn't know about.
But the why slipped him.
Everyone liked Susan. Hell, even Harry liked Susan and Harry barely liked anyone.
She was rather bubbly and sweet once you got past her shy exterior and was extremely loyal. Throughout the more animated times at Hogwarts, whether that be during the whole Heir of Slytherin incident or the Triwizard Tournament or even recently with Umbridge, Susan was one of the only people who had his back through thick and thin.
The same, however, couldn't be said for Hannah who looked as though she wished the ground could swallow her up.
"I said I didn't know," Neville said, bristling, though his voice trembled. "She didn't touch anything. She didn't cast anything. One moment we were walking, the next – this."
Before Harry could say anything more, a soft pop shattered the tension.
A creature stood in the middle of the infirmary floor – small, thin, with wide glassy eyes and trembling fingers clutching the hem of a dark red tunic emblazoned with a silver acorn.
"Who in the – ?" Madam Pomfrey gasped.
But before anyone could move, four more pops echoed around the room.
Dobby appeared in a flash, planting himself protectively in front of Harry, his tiny frame taut with magic. A split-second later, three other Hogwarts elves blinked into place. One in front of Dumbledore, one at Madam Pomfrey's side, and the last spreading his arms in front of Neville and Hannah like a tiny, trembling shield.
"Halt!" barked one of the Hogwarts elves, eyes blazing. "Yous is not belonging here!"
" – Back!" Dobby snarled, arms wide. "Master Harry must not be harmed!"
"I-I mean no harm!" the strange elf squeaked, voice barely more than a breath. "I is Bimmy! Bimmy! I is the Bones' family elf – Bimmy swears! I is only coming to find my Miss!"
Dumbledore raised a hand, and the Hogwarts elves fell still whilst Harry had to physically hold Dobby back from throttling the whimpering elf.
"Speak, Bimmy," Dumbledore said gravelly. "Why have you come?"
The elf's knees buckled as he turned toward Susan, who was staring at him, pale and wide-eyed.
"Mistress Susie – B-Bones Manor – is under attack!" Bimmy wailed, wringing its hands. "There is fires and shouts and spells – so many spells – and the Lady Amy is fighting but the dark cloaked ones have somehow breached the wards! Bimmy tried to protect the Lady Amy but the Lady Amy ordered Bimmy to save himself! Bimmy couldn't refuse… couldn't refuse…"
Susan let out a soft, strangled sound, her face twisting into horror – and Harry froze.
Because the second Bimmy had said the words, the silver chain around his neck pulsed hot against his skin. Beneath his shirt, a small wolf-shaped charm blazed like a brand.
Harry reached for it on instinct and closed his eyes.
She's hurt.
He could feel it, unmistakable and cold and terrifyingly real.
"Nym…" he whispered, dread curdling in his stomach.
Dumbledore's eyes snapped to him. "Harry?"
Harry's jaw clenched, and he opened his hand. The necklace that Andromeda had got him for his birthday glowed silver, the wolf charm pulsing with erratic light.
"She's with Madam Bones… Mother said Nym got moved to Susan's aunt's detail last week." He turned to Bimmy, voice low and dangerous. His eyes glowing as the temperature in the room plummeted. "Where is Bones Manor?"
The elf whimpered. "Bimmy cannot say. Bimmy is oathbound never to reveal the location of the Manor without express permission."
"Susan."
The redhead jolted at the sound of her name, as though it had been shouted.
Harry didn't look at her like a friend. Not right now. He looked at her like her entire existence had reshaped into a singular point.
"Susan," he repeated again, stepping forward. "Tell me where the manor is."
"I – " Susan's voice cracked. "I-I-I don't know if I can… w-we're under powerful wards… auntie said – "
"I don't care what your aunt said!" Harry snapped. "She's there… my sister is there and I need to get to her now."
Magic was rising around him like a tide as the walls of the infirmary creaked under the discharge.
Neville and Hannah backed up instinctively, dread spilling from their faces as the temperature dropped another degree. Even Madam Pomfrey clutched her robes tighter to her chest, eyes wide with growing unease.
"Calm yourself, Harry…" Dumbledore warned, stepping forward.
But Harry ignored him. "My patience is running out, Susan."
Tears welled up in Susan's eyes as she shook like a leaf.
"P-P-Please… Harry… please save my auntie… she's all I have – "
" – The name, Susan." Harry cut in coldly.
The wolf charm at his neck pulsed again.
"Enough, Harry! That's enough." Dumbledore said sharply, stepping in between the two students. "We will find another – "
For a moment, the raw pressure rolling off Harry stopped. Not because he yielded but because Susan did, her voice barely a whisper. "S-St Athan! St Athan in Wales. O-On the north-east hill besides the river."
"St Athan…" Harry repeated, snapping his wand out from its holster.
"Mr Potter… Harry." Madam Pomfrey began wringing her hands. "You are injured. Your shoulder –"
Harry waved his wand over his bandaged arm and muttered something under his breath.
Those around him watched in horror as the limb began to spasm violently.
"Who on earth taught you that spell?!" Madam Pomfrey demanded, rushing to inspect his arm which softly glowed at the joint before dissipating entirely.
"My gran." Harry said between clenched teeth, his eyes watering from the excruciating pain that had settled into a dull throb. "This will do."
"A temporary fix," the matron began but was silenced by Harry's glare as he yanked his arm away from her.
"I said this will do."
"Albus!" Madam Pomfrey pleaded.
"You cannot and will not fight in that state, Harry." Dumbledore commanded. "Your magic is teetering on the verge of magical exhaustion. This will be suicide."
"I don't care – "
"I do!" The old man rebutted, his wand slipping out from his sleeve. "You will remain here and we will send a team. I will personally go and aid as well."
Harry eyed Dumbledore's wand and instantly, it was like a switch had been flicked. The room became eerie quiet as a sinister smile settled on Harry's face. "You think you can hold me, old man?"
Dumbledore pursed his lips. Once again the similarities became blatantly obvious and in this moment, it was as though Tom was standing before him. Andromeda had once revealed in confidence that Harry may have inherited some of Tom's tendencies, his quirks, after the ritual to remove the Horcrux.
Was this it?
Was this Tom's personality leaking through or was this how Harry was all along…?
Abruptly, a blinding flash of silver burst through the stone wall.
A lynx. With it, came the noticeable deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.
"Diagon Alley is under attack, Albus. Multiple squadrons of Death Eaters sighted. Dementors confirmed. Aurors have been dispatched. Vance and Jones en route. No visual confirmation of You-Know-Who. We need your help. Urgently…"
The matron exhaled shakily, her face ashen. "Two attacks… and in Diagon Alley…?"
"Poppy. Send word to Minerva. The situation has just escalated. Harry, you will – "
When the old man turned, the teen was nowhere to be seen.
"Tipsy!" Dumbledore barked at one of the Hogwarts elves. "Lock down the school immediately!"
At the same time, somewhere in the castle, Harry ran.
Magic raced under his skin, lightning through his veins as he used it to hold back the remnants of Madam Pomfrey's potion.
The corridor lights flickered overhead as he sprinted past, his robes snapping behind him like a banner against the wind. A crack split the air beside him as Dobby appeared and clung onto his good shoulder.
"Did you get it?" Harry asked, turning the corner.
"Yes, Master Harry!" Dobby squeaked.
"Give me the Pepper Up. I'll drink the others once we get to St Athans – "
"ALL STUDENTS ARE TO HEAD TO THEIR DORMITORIES IMMEDIATELY. EXTRA CURRICULAR ACTIVITIES FOR THE NIGHT ARE HEARBY CANCELLED! I REPEAT, ALL STUDENTS ARE TO HEAD – "
"Dobby feels Hogwarts' magic has changed, Master Harry! The castle is sealing and the doors are closing, sir!"
Harry scowled. "The old man must've locked down the castle… not before I get out."
"The secret tunnels, Master Harry?" The elf asked, holding down one of his long ears to ensure it didn't hit the wall.
"No. That'll take too much time. I have another idea though I probably will never hear the end of it…"
The entrance hall loomed ahead, the massive front doors already half-sealed by ancient enchantments.
Harry skidded to a stop in front of the doors as lingering students flinched at his visage.
"It's Harry – "
"Harry Potter – "
A familiar voice called from across the marble floor. "Harry?!"
Hermione stood near the arch that led to the staircases, clutching the hand of a confused first year as a small group of younger Gryffindors clustered behind her. She blinked, disoriented, trying to make sense of the figure standing in front of the half-sealed castle doors.
"Harry?" she called again, her voice a mix of confusion and concern. "What's going on? Why are you down here?"
Harry didn't answer.
His gaze was fixed on the enchantments snapping into place across the great doors as if he was analysing it. Ward after ward, lock after lock, glowed bright and vicious like a magical jigsaw puzzle.
I have no choice.
Hermione moved closer and her tone becoming urgent. "Did you hear the announcement? There's a lockdown! Everyone's supposed to go back to their dorms – Harry! Are you hurt? What on earth happened to your arm?!"
Still nothing.
"Talk to me!"
Harry turned toward her, and Hermione froze.
His eyes were shining. Raw magic pulsed off him in waves. His jaw was tight. Too tight.
"Go back to the Tower," he said curtly.
Hermione frowned, shaking off the feeling of despair. "What? No! I'm not leaving you down here! Why are the doors… never mind that… are you trying to get out or something?!"
She inched forward again, alarm spreading across her face. "Harry, what are you doing? What's happening?"
He didn't reply.
"Harry, please!" Hermione pleaded, lowering her voice now. "You've got a scary look on your face – "
" – I don't have time to explain," he said coldly.
"You need to make time!" she snapped, her worry beginning to give way to frustration. "You can't just – "
" – I don't need your permission, Hermione!" Harry snapped, whirling on her. "Get the brats out of here."
Hermione flinched at the sheer venom in his voice. The younger students behind her whimpered, inching backward as the air seemed to press in tighter. She could feel the magic building up in front of her.
"Harry… please don't do something stupid."
Harry suddenly raised his wand. "Better throw up a shield…"
"W-What?"
" – Bombarda Maxima!"
The spell detonated like a cannon.
A tidal wave of light surged from his wand, striking the enchanted doors with a force that felt as though shook the entire castle. An ear-splitting boom rent the air, followed by an explosion of light, splintering wood and iron. The protections shrieked and shattered as the impact hurled magic like shrapnel through the room.
The floor beneath them trembled. Stone cracked. Armour flung from its mounts and the magnificent chandelier above swung violently, groaning under their chains.
Hermione immediately shielded the younger students with a Protego, heart hammering in her chest as dust and embers swirled through the entrance hall amid the screams and shouts of both students and paintings alike.
"Ha – Harry…? Harry!" she coughed, staggering through the smoke.
But when the dust settled…
Harry was gone.
Only the ruined doors remained, yawning wide into the night.
CwD
15 minutes earlier…
" – One date iz all I ask, mademoiselle Tonks, and I promise, you will never look at British men the same again."
Tonks sighed as she pushed past him in the drawing room. "Not this dance again, Jacques. What's the ICW policy again for sexual harassment on foreign soil?"
"Harassment?" Jacques said, scandalised. "Non, non, this is charm, darling. A lost art in your grey little island. Observe: Your pink hair iz az pretty az zhe first blush of a rosebud."
The Metamorph grimaced. "Only thing lost here is your sense of boundaries."
A soft chuckle came from her left. Isabel Vargas, the Spanish Hit-Wizard, leaned against the archway, arms crossed over her dark leather uniform. "He tried that same line on me two months ago. He stopped when I threatened to connect both of his ears across his face."
"I adjust per audience," Jacques said, unbothered. "But I will say, I am not used to rejection from women in uniform. It humbles me. Keeps me... sharp."
Tonks rolled her eyes. "Good. Then stay sharp and stop circling me like a puffed-up peacock."
The three of them were gathered inside Bones Manor's west hall.
Thick stone walls, charmed sconces and high ceilings gave the impression of a fortress masquerading as a country estate. Other Aurors moved in and out of rooms further down the corridor – checkpoints, patrol shifts, and a rotating schedule that kept the perimeter alive.
Bones Manor wasn't just a residence anymore. Not since Amelia Bones became Minister for Magic. It was a seat of power. And power always attracted attention and not the good type.
Jacques ran a gloved finger along the polished edge of a mahogany table and gave a low whistle. "So… how powerful do you reckon zhe wards are here?"
"According to what I have read up on, Bones Manor has never been breached. Not even during the last conflict." Isabel said mildly, before she glanced over at Tonks. "It is expected of a family as old as the Blacks…"
Tonks didn't bite and instead stared out the window. What was she hoping to see, she didn't know but she felt oddly tense.
"Where iz Minister Bones?"
"Her study," Tonks replied, gesturing up the staircase. "Preparing policy drafts for the next Wizengamot meeting."
"From what I hav' seen for the past couple of days, it looks as though she iz preparing for war…"
There was a hint of derision in Jacques' voice that Tonks took offence to.
"Madam Bones is preparing for what's already happening."
"Ah. Oui. Zhis so-called Dark Lord."
That earned her full attention. Tonks turned, one brow arched. "Isn't that why you were both sent here?"
"The ICW has its own perspective," Isabel said before Jacques could speak. "Not every country sees this Voldemort as a global threat. Some even refuse to believe he's still alive."
Jacques snorted sardonically.
"You don't think there is a threat." Tonks blinked, staring at the Frenchman across from her.
" – Zhe agreement was that ve vould be deployed only if this insurgency spills over to foreign soil. I personally don't zhink that sending us hit-wizards to contain a few sycophants is, how you say… necessary – no matter how much Albus Dumbledore inflates Britain's domestic conflicts. What I see iz panic. Dumbledore's panic."
Tonks folded her arms. "Well, when the Albus Dumbledore pleads to the ICW for backup, that doesn't mean something? Maybe that he can no longer handle the threat?"
"Zhe Premier Mage of Magical Britain cannot handle zhe threat…?Jacques tilted his head. "Iz that why he named Potter his successor? 'oping he will take care of zhis Dark Lord in his place?"
Isabel's gaze flicked between them.
Jacques leaned a little closer, his smile now edged. "You British play your politics very loud, you know. Letting a student become Premier Mage? You must know how zhat looks. My home country laughs at it."
Tonks shook her head pitifully. "Spoken just like a fool."
"I'm just saying what everyone else is zhinking," Jacques shrugged. "Potter is untested and too young. Dumbledore's apprentice or not, power, like what he holds now, is outright dangerous. It iz is a psychopath's wet dream."
"That boy has survived and seen more than most full trained wizards could ever imagine. You don't know nothing!" The Metamorph snapped, losing her patience.
Jacques raised his hands in mock surrender. "Touchy."
"Professional," she shot back. "Which I thought was a prerequisite for ICW operatives, but maybe France lowered their standards."
Isabel stepped between them before Jacques could respond. "Enough. We're on duty. Jacques – check in with Squad Two. Now."
Tonks didn't break eye contact until the Frenchman gave a theatrical sigh and stalked off, muttering in rapid French under his breath.
"You must forgive him," Isabel said once he was out of earshot. "Once Jacques forms an opinion, it tends to ossify. Quickly."
"He's a bonehead," Tonks said roughly. "A sheep in Hit-Wizard robes. Just like the rest."
"His skill as a Hit-Wizard I can attest for at the very least." She smiled faintly, the expression not reaching her eyes. "Though I cannot say he's the only one. Our Premier Mage in Spain also disagrees of Potter's appointment. Not outright like the way the Premier Mage of France did but she disapproves, nonetheless. She thinks Dumbledore is playing favourites. That Britain is about to create a figurehead they can't control. Especially when this same figurehead is the Lord of one of the most notorious families in the world."
"Anyone who thinks that Harry will allow anyone to parade him around like he's some figurehead doesn't know a damn thing," Tonks said lowly.
"So, all those stories about him are true then?"
Tonks decided to go a different route. "You've seen my skill as a witch?"
Isabel blinked. "Yes…?"
"And?"
"And… you're talented. Much more than I was at your age."
"Between you and me, who'd win in a duel?"
The Spanish woman raised her eyebrows. "It would be close. Perhaps I'd have the edge solely due to having more combat experience but I wouldn't be surprised if you edge over me."
Tonks smirked as she leaned in slightly causing Isabel to mirror her as if she was about to receive the biggest secret of her life.
"Harry could defeat every single one of us here without batting an eye."
Isabel scoffed, leaning back. "That's impossible."
"You only say that because you haven't seen him in action."
"Or I'm being realistic," the brunette shot back. "I cannot see in any situation where a boy who hasn't even reached adulthood can best fully trained aurors not to mention us Hit-Wizards. No matter how talented he is, it's certainly not probable."
Tonks shrugged. "That's your opinion."
Isabel pursed her lips. "You seem to have a lot of faith in him."
"If you knew him and have seen the things I've seen him do, you would too."
" – If only the boy would give me the pleasure also."
Both witches straightened at once as Amelia Bones descended the stairs, adjusting the monocle that clung to her right eye with quiet precision.
"Ma'am!"
"At ease," Amelia said dryly, waving a hand. "Gossiping about our resident celebrity, are we?"
"Only to pass the time, Madam Minister!" Tonks replied cheekily.
Amelia rolled her eyes at the title. "Merlin, I miss the days when I could walk into a room without someone tripping over themselves to salute."
"You shouldn't have accepted the job, then," the Metamorph replied with a grin..
Amelia turned to Isabel, ignoring that. "You're taking good care of my Auror, Agent Vargas?"
"Of course, ma'am." Isabel offered a tight smile. "I expected nothing less from someone trained by Master Auror Moody. Though I do wish she'd rein in her temper a little more."
Tonks shot her a withering look, but Amelia only chuckled, the lines at her eyes softening. "Moody never trusted anyone who didn't bark back."
She stepped past them and stopped by the tall, narrow window overlooking the warded perimeter, arms folding behind her back. "Where is Agent Jacques?"
"Gone to check on Squad Two," Isabel answered.
"Mm." Amelia's gaze drifted to the Aurors patrolling the boundary, their movements steady but alert. The wards shimmered faintly in the distance, dancing like heat over glass.
She didn't speak for a moment.
"I sometimes wonder if becoming Minister was the right decision," she said at last, almost to herself.
Tonks blinked. "Ma'am…?"
"It's nothing. Just... a passing thought." Amelia turned away from the window. "Some nights, I miss the simplicity of a field operation. Wand at my side, a target in front of me, no press, no speeches, no bloody paperwork."
"You were one of the best Hit-Wizards of your era before you returned to Britain," Isabel said quietly, her tone earnest. "There are still stories about the Tashkent operation."
Amelia waved a hand as if brushing away a fly. "Tashkent was a mess. Everyone talks about the duel with Roskov like it was some glorious thing. If it wasn't for Alastor, that monster would've hacked my leg off. People romanticise war until it knocks on their own door."
She paused, then glanced sideways at Tonks. "Still. I suppose if I hadn't taken the reins, someone else would've mucked it up worse."
Tonks gave her a faint smile. "You took it because no one else could be trusted with it. Fudge couldn't even spell 'integrity.'"
Amelia smirked, just barely. "I took it because Moody asked me to. Bastard always had a way of making you believe you were the only one who could do something."
Her eyes flicked back to Isabel. "And how are you finding Britain, Agent Vargas?"
Isabel straightened a bit. "Colder than Spain. Wetter, too. But your people are strong."
"That they are," Amelia murmured. "And stubborn. Especially the good ones."
She looked back at Tonks now, her voice softening. "Moody trained you well, Nymphadora, but don't let that be all you are. Your skill speaks for itself – you don't need to carry his shadow forever."
Tonks scrunched her nose at her name throat. "He says the same thing."
"Then maybe you should listen."
Isabel, who had stayed respectfully silent, finally spoke. "If I may, ma'am… what was he like? Back then. Moody, I mean."
Amelia huffed out a laugh. "You've met the man. What do you think?"
"Intense," Isabel said diplomatically.
"Intense is the word we use when we don't want to say terrifying," Tonks muttered.
Amelia actually smiled at that. "He's all bark until he isn't. But I'll tell you this… he doesn't waste time training people unless he sees something special in them. He's crooked like that."
Tonks hesitated, then added, "He trained Harry. Briefly. Over the summer."
Isabel's brows rose. "Moody trained Potter?"
Amelia turned fully now, interest sharpening in her gaze. "Voluntarily?"
"Kind of? Dumbledore asked him and Moody agreed." Tonks levelled a smirk at Isabel. "Changed your opinion on Harry, now?"
Isabel sniffed, turning back to Amelia. "Speaking of. He's caused quite a stir, you know. The ICW doesn't like those that they can't predict. Especially ones with titles."
"Let those bastards be uncomfortable. Serves them right for being so difficult to work with…" Amelia muttered before she let out a sigh. "I could tell you a hundred stories about the ICW that would make you want to pull your hair out but it's late. We should all be getting some rest."
"Forty minutes until Squad Three relieves us, ma'am. We're still within shift protocol."
"Very well. Stay sharp. I'll be sure to ask Bimmy to put on some hot chocolate."
Tonks' eyes sparkled. "You spoil us, Madam Minister."
Amelia chuckled, turning away, her boots clicking softly against the marble. Suddenly, a crushing wave of dread slammed into her chest. Her breath caught mid-step, lungs seizing like she'd plunged into icy water. Her stomach dropped as if yanked from her body, and the world tilted sideways. She staggered, slamming a hand against the wall to keep from falling.
"Ma'am!" Tonks shouted, already at her side.
Two pairs of hands caught her elbows, steadying her as her knees nearly buckled. Her vision blurred at the edges. Tonks' voice sounded far away, the panic unmistakable. "Ma'am! Ma'am! What's wrong? Are you alright? What is it?!"
Isabel's wand flicked over her; rapid diagnostics muttered under her breath.
Amelia tried to answer but nothing came out. Her throat had closed. She couldn't speak. She couldn't even think.
It wasn't pain she felt… it was something else. Something ancient and wrong. It pressed in on her, thick and suffocating. She could feel it in her blood. In her bones.
And then –
The scream.
It tore through the manor like a lightning strike, sharp and unholy. Not human. Not entirely. It sounded like it had been pulled from the depths of the earth, from the mouths of the dead. Magic rode the sound – magic twisted and wild and wrong. It didn't echo. It pierced. Straight through flesh, through bone, through soul.
Amelia gasped, her eyes wide. The scream violated the air itself.
Tonks had gone pale. Isabel looked physically ill.
So, it wasn't just her who had heard it.
And if the situation wasn't bad enough, it was about to be.
The low, thunderous hum of the manor's wards cracked. One after another. Layers of ancient protections – wards placed generations ago by the Bones family of old – shattered like glass.
An alarm blared to life. Not the standard one for breach but something else entirely.
This was the alarm Amelia had only ever read about. The one triggered if the very core of the Bones estate was compromised.
She had trained for this. She just never thought she'd live to hear it.
Isabel swore in Spanish. "The wards… I can feel it… they're gone."
"A-All of them? How?" Tonks stuttered in disbelief.
"No," Amelia whispered. Her voice was hoarse now, barely her own as she pushed herself up. "Worse. They were ripped apart. It… it shouldn't have been possible…"
The words hung in the air just as distant howls, deep and feral, curled through the night like smoke. The ground shuddered, followed by sharp cracks of spellfire and thunderous explosions, each one rattling the stained-glass windows and shaking ancient dust loose from the ceiling.
"Werewolves… we're under attack!" Isabel's eyes snapped to her as she drew her wand. "Madam Bones, we need to get you out – "
Before she could finish, the world detonated.
Something massive – enchanted iron, or worse – smashed through the wall in a blinding eruption of flame and force. The explosion cracked through the manor like a tidal wave of raw energy, obliterating everything in its path.
"Look out!"
A storm of shattered crystal and searing splinters screamed through the air, followed by a concussive blast that sent all three witches flying.
Amelia's back hit the stone wall so hard she didn't even feel the landing. Only the rush of heat, smoke, and the deafening roar in her ears.
Furniture lay in mangled heaps of scorched wood and torn upholstery. Even the elegant rug she remembered watching Susan crawling around on was nothing but ash curling in the air.
Amelia's vision was pulsing black at the edges as she tried to move, only to find a sharp pain flare across her ribs and lower back. She gasped. Her left arm hung limp, dislocated or worse. Was that something warm pooling beneath her hip?
"Mistress – "
She flinched at the voice, but it wasn't an enemy. Large, terrified eyes stared into her own.
"Mistress Amy!" Bimmy sobbed, his tiny hands pressing frantically against her shoulder. "You must leave now! They've come – they've come!"
" – Don't spare a single one! Avada Kedavra!"
A flash of green split the air, and Amelia's survival instincts took over. Her body jolted with panic as her eyes snapped sideways just in time to see a table split apart from the killing curse.
And behind the table stood –
"Tonks!"
Tonks moved with a wild sort of desperation, throwing up a half-shield and then deflecting a Blasting Curse that struck the already-ruined wall behind her, sending up another burst of rubble.
Three masked Death Eaters advanced on her – all three hammering forward relentlessly.
"What a crafty little bitch!"
" – Aim for her legs, you fucking idiot!"
Tonks staggered left, then ducked a hex that tore through what remained of the mantel. Her shield shimmered weakly as her arm felt heavy. She couldn't keep up this defence for much longer. One more hit and her shield would collapse entirely.
Then, out of nowhere a flash of silver and blue burst through the haze like a hammer.
"Depulso!"
The three Death Eaters were thrown backward like rag dolls, their bodies crashing into the far wall with bone-snapping force.
Isabel stormed through the dust cloud like a miracle.
"Stupefy! Incarcerous!"
In the space of seconds, all three Death Eaters were stunned or bound, twitching and unconscious in a heap of broken rubble.
"Where the fuck were you?" Tonks collapsed to one knee, panting, blood dripping from her lip.
Isabel was at her side in a flash. "A bit busy if you didn't notice. Are you hit?"
Tonks in fact did notice. Looking to her side, she saw many dark clothed individuals all stunned and bound from the direction that Isabel had come from.
Hit-wizards really are no joke…
"I ain't dead." Tonks managed a breathless grin as she was helped up.
" – Nice timing, Vargas." Amelia mumbled against the wall.
"Ma'am!" The two women rushed over to Amelia, who was struggling to push herself upright.
Isabel knelt and began to wave her wand over her. "She's bleeding internally… not to mention her numerous other injuries. Tonks, put pressure here whilst I try and sort her out. This will hurt, ma'am."
Tonks pressed her hand over Amelia's side just as the older witch hissed in pain.
"We need to get you out of here," Isabel said urgently as she worked her wand, muttering spell after spell in between. "You're in no shape to fight."
"Fucking Death Eaters threw up wards. No one's getting in or out." Amelia gritted her teeth as sweat dripped from her forehead. "We stay and hold the line until back up arrives."
"You won't last another hit!" Isabel barked.
Bimmy clutched Amelia's sleeve. "Mistress Amy, you must go through the tunnels! The ones below the manor! Bimmy can lead you out!"
Amelia turned her head, meeting the elf's tearful eyes. "You go," she whispered. "Take the tunnel, get outside the wardline. Send for help and find Susan. Protect her."
"But – "
"That's an order, Bimmy!"
The elf's lip trembled. Nodding despondently, Bimmy ran away as quick he could, leaving the three-woman behind.
"Minister…"
"I'm not leaving you two. Or my Aurors." Amelia's voice was firm.
"Ma'am – "
" – This is the house of my ancestors! I'd rather die before I abandon it to a bunch of terrorists!"
Isabel and Tonks looked at each other before the former sighed. "Very well. Drink this for now. Something that should help numb the pain. I've done all I can but you are still injured. I fear even the slightest hit on your abdomen could kill you on the spot."
"That's if they hit me… help me stand."
Both women moved at once, hauling Amelia to her feet.
"Now let's go find these bastards."
CwD