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Entry tags:
Liminality: Chapter 5 [HP]
Title: Liminality
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Characters: Tomarry, brief!Harry/Ginny, Harry & Ginny, Ginny & Tom, Harry & Hermione & Ron, Hermione/Ron, Severus Snape & Harry
Rating: M
Chapter Word Count: 4,630
Chapter Count: 5 / 6 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2| Chapter 3 | Chapter 4
Summary: AU: EWE; MoD!Harry. Harry Potter, saviour of magical Britain, has proved himself to be great at dying and coming back again. He’s just not as good at the bits in between coming back and dying again.
Notes:
---
Rolf hadn’t been exaggerating. The colours of visible magic shown by the Iriran Oje potion are so much brighter what Harry is accustomed to from dipping his spectacles in the Hyggja At.
He stumbles slightly as he makes his way through ministry halls, which are glowing with a complex web of interlaced charms. Harry recognises many of the protection wards, but some of them, the ones buried deeply under layers of other spells, are completely new to him despite the fact that they thrum with age.
Harry almost wants to stay and investigate, but he suspects that even his pristine reputation as an auror wouldn’t hold up to him staring at the walls muttering to himself. And anyway, if he lingers any longer, he’ll be late to lunch.
Ginny and Tom have chosen a cafe that’s a little upscale for Harry’s tastes, but the ostentatiousness is lessened by the fact that they opted for a table outside.
The deck is decorated as a garden, with the tables placed in lovely little pockets of magical plants and trees. It makes each table feel as though it’s set in its own private room.
Ginny and Tom both stand to greet him. Ginny busses his cheek in a friendly sort of way, and Tom kisses Harry’s hand with a courtly bow that has Harry flushing and biting his inside cheek.
“I’m sorry that I couldn’t make it last night,” Ginny tells Harry insincerely. “I do hope that you managed to enjoy yourselves without me.”
“We did alright,” says Harry, not meeting her eyes.
Ginny smirks at him.
Three menus float over to their table, and for a moment, they’re quiet as they decide what to order.
“So,” says Harry as the menus speed off to the kitchen. “Did you manage to find anything interesting?”
As Ginny describes her search for another copy of Raising the Dead, Harry studies her closely. The Iriran Oje lets him see the deep glow of her magical core, the glimmer of her cosmetic charms, the protection spells she’s woven into her jewelry, but it reveals no compulsion spell or any other sign that her mind has been tampered with.
Neither Ginny nor Tom show any of the tell-tale shadows of truly Dark magic.
Harry tries to decide whether or not he’s disappointed.
“And what about you?” asks Ginny. “How is the case progressing?”
Harry makes a face. “It’s not. We’re starting to believe that our suspect may just be using your old set-up to complete a rite, though, rather than picking up anything new. So that limits them to...”
“The same rites we used: The Returning Reign, the Red Pheasant, and the Third Circle,” says Tom. “And also a mild headache reliever, if they’re so inclined.”
Ginny shakes her head. “They’d have to be Merlin himself to get the Red Pheasant to work any time soon. It took us more than a year to build up a magical power source strong enough for what we needed, and that was with us using some… inspired methods. And the Third Circle is completely out of the question, of course.”
“Mmm, yes,” says Tom. “But do they know that?”
“I mentioned it at our first department-wide meeting for the case,” Harry admits. “But I didn’t remember any details, and I still don’t. Something about astrological conditions that only occur every hundred years or so.”
Ginny and Tom exchange glances. “And you just… knew that. Right off the top of your head?” asks Ginny dubiously.
Harry shrugs. After effectively revealing his closet necromancy interests to the entire Auror Department, sharing it with Ginny and Tom is nothing. “It’s a hobby.”
Ginny snorts; Tom’s eyes are bright.
“But anyway,” says Harry, “they have the book now. All the books. And your special translation of Raising the Dead will be pretty clear on what’s needed, right?”
Ginny makes a face. “To a given definition of ‘clear.’”
“One of the great joys of translation,” says Tom loftily, ignoring Ginny mock gagging beside him, “is puzzling out the author’s underlying intention as well as their explicitly stated words. In this case, a deeper understanding of the colloquial terminology of the time allowed us to dismiss the implied conditions for the literal translation and instead settle on the correct timing for the ritual: approximately 3 and a half months ago.”
“Okay,” says Harry slowly. “But someone only using a literal translation would assume the timing would be… when?”
“In three days,” Ginny supplies. “Right around sunset.”
“And what happens if they try to conduct the ritual then?”
Tom tilts his head to one side. “Nothing undeadly,” he says, and Harry sags with relief until Tom continues. “On the other hand, someone will die.”
Harry jerks up. “What?”
Their food arrives, and the scent of it as it appears on the table is divine. Harry doesn’t even look at it.
Tom casually unfolds his napkin to free his silverware. “As Ginerva mentioned, it is very unlikely that they’ll manage to use the Red Pheasant ritual to create a living receptacle the way we did. This means that they’ll require a human sacrifice to contain the soul they intend to summon. No soul will actually be summoned, of course, but our would-be necromancer will only find that out after they have laid their sacrifice to rest in the potion.”
Harry closes his eyes. “What about the last rite?”
“Other than the headache cure, I assume?” asks Tom, smiling.
Harry scowls at him. “The possession rite. Returning Reign.”
Tom’s eyes go dark with interest. “You do seem to know your way around a necromancy pentagram, love.”
“There isn’t much damage they could do with that one on its own,” Ginny muses. “Summon souls? Not a big deal. Minor possession? Whatever. After the candles burn down, the soul just pops back to the other side. Unless they’re anchored to a living body, anyway, but we used the Third Circle for that.”
Harry licks his lips. “The feeling around the office,” he says, ignoring the way Tom’s eyes are fixed on him, “is that the goal is to resurrect Voldemort.”
Tom smirks. “A little late to the party, are they?”
Ginny giggles.
“What would happen if they did try to summon Voldemort’s soul?” asks Harry. “Would they be able to summon any of the soul pieces remaining beyond the Veil? I couldn’t, but…”
Ginny covers her mouth with her hand, eyes wide. “You… tried?”
Tom is frozen, his fork halfway up to his mouth.
“Er...” says Harry.
“What rite did you use?” asks Tom.
“The Resurrection Stone,” Harry confesses. “From the Tale of the Three Brothers.”
“The children’s story?” asks Ginny, disbelievingly.
“Do you have the Elder Wand?” asks Tom.
“Can we please focus?” demands Harry crossly.
Tom leans back in his eye, his eyes bright with curiosity. “Of course,” he says, visibly restraining himself. “It’s most likely that nothing would happen at all if they attempted to summon me. I’m not sure what would have occurred while my soul was still fractured in Death’s realm, but I am now… whole.”
“We used the Returning Reign rite as well,” says Ginny. “With it, we were able to piece Tom’s soul back together.”
Harry’s eyes narrow at Tom. “You deliberately left that out of our discussion last night.”
Tom meets his gaze calmly. “It wasn’t relevant. I am, primarily, the Diary horcrux. Mine was the largest of the soul pieces by far, and even without that, the length of time I spent growing and healing with Ginerva would have been enough to give me the edge when it came to power. And the other soul pieces were rather…”
“Damaged,” supplies Harry, remembering his own encounters with each of the horcruxes.
Tom winces, but he agrees. “Quite. I remember their experiences, but it’s blurry, as though I’m remembering…” he visibly struggles to explain himself.
“A drunken bender,” says Ginny.
Tom gives her a look, but finally he nods. “More or less.”
“Okay,” says Harry. “So you’re all one big happy soul now. And since you’ve got a body of your own, the Returning Reign rite definitely won’t work on you?”
Tom hesitates. “Probably won’t work on me.”
Harry stares at him. “Great. So, what we have is a wannabe necromancer who’s either going to murder someone to no effect, summon you to no effect, or succeed in summoning you, with lots of effects.”
Ginny says, “Not quite to no effect in the second case. It’s very evident that the Returning Reign rite is connected, so if no soul appears, the obvious explanation is…”
“That you’re actually not dead.” Harry rubs his forehead tiredly, feeling his palm scrape over his old scar. “Excellent. Just what we need.”
“Good thing Harry Potter is on the case,” says Tom mildly. “Is anyone in the mood for dessert?”
---
Harry is still feeling dazed when he returns to the ministry, and so he isn’t paying close enough attention as he trots down the corridor.
He’s thinking of the evidence storeroom that the original Dark Muggle Investigation team had been using. There could be residual traces of some magic that he hadn’t noticed when he’d done his first sweep of the room after the theft. He might as well take a look, as long as he’s still under the influence of the Iriran Oje. He takes a sudden left and runs head-on into someone hurrying in the opposite direction.
“Sorry, sorry!” comes a familiar voice from under a miasma of colours.
“Everett?” asks Harry. He tries not to squint reflexively to see through the magic wrapped around Everett’s head like an opalescent octopus. “Where are you off to?”
“We have another round of interviews scheduled,” pipes up Peters. When Harry turns to look at her, he finds that her whole head is likewise engulfed in a swirling mass of tentacles.
“Good, good,” says Harry. His stomach is sinking rapidly. “Do you know where I can find Burnes and Jakobs?”
Two hours later, Harry has not made it to the storeroom, but he has found Burnes and Jakobs.
Harry grabs some memo paper off of a trainee and scribbles out, Meet me at Patil’s office. He waves off fives copies of it.
Ron, Nott, and Greengrass are already in Patil’s office, along with Patil herself, when Harry arrives.
“Hi again, sorry,” says Harry. “Ron, is it alright if I cast the Imperius Curse on you for a second?”
Everyone stares at him.
“Er,” says Ron. “Do I want to know why?”
A knock sounds at the door, and Harry nods to Patil to open it.
“You summoned me, Potter?” says Kingsley wryly.
Harry cringes. “Minister, sir,” he says.
Kingsley’s lips twitch in amusement. “Just tell me why I’m here, Potter.”
“I took a potion that makes magic visible,” says Harry. “To help me reinspect the breached evidence storeroom, among other things. But before I could make it to the storeroom, I ran into Everett and Peters.”
“So they are hexed,” says Greengrass smugly, seeing the point he’s leading them to. “I knew those idiot senior aurors couldn’t be trusted.”
Kingsley’s eyebrows shoot up.
“To be fair, the Imperius Curse is generally considered to be undetectable,” says Patil. “So you want to compare the visible representation of a known Imperius to the phenomenon you observed around Everett and Peters?”
“And you need my approval to cast an Unforgivable,” sighs Kingsley. “Well, who’s the victim?”
Ron groans in resignation. “Fine,” he says. “Just don’t make me do anything stupid, please?”
Harry casts, and the same uncomfortable swirl of tentacle-like colours flow around Ron’s head as he’d seen around Everett and the others.
“Well?” asks Patil.
Harry ends the spell. “It’s the same,” he says, rubbing his forehead. “I’ll make a copy of my memories for you.”
Kingsley nods. “What about the rest of the team? Burnes and Jakobs?”
“I checked them out,” Harry confirms. “Burnes is cursed, too. Jakobs is clean, but she joined the team a day later when I moved her over from misdemeanor response.”
“This is excellent news!” says Greengrass. When everyone stares at her, she adds, “Well, isn’t it? We were splitting hairs, trying to figure out what motive Everett could possibly have! And now that we know that the motive isn’t his at all, it’ll be easier to move forward!”
“Back to the good ole Death Eaters,” says Ron.
“Back to square one,” corrects Nott. “We know Everett, at least, was definitely the one in possession of the books, and contact tracing of him came up clean, remember?”
Everyone looks at Harry.
“Yeah,” says Harry. “It seems as though he hasn’t done anything but work and go home, except…” he hesitates.
“Except?” asks Kingsley.
“He bought a Pepper Up Potion from Most Potente Plants,” says Harry slowly. “I suppose he could have handed the books off there.”
“Talk to the owners; find out who else was in that shop, even if you need to search their memories.” Kingsley looks at each of them. “It was one thing when we had a simple case of an enthusiastic reader, and another when we had a case of a security breach in the ministry. I hope I don’t have to tell you that casting an Unforgivable on a team of aurors is an act of willful violence, and it’s considered intent to commit treason.”
“As someone who has broken into the ministry on multiple occasions and cast Unforgivables in the process, I can disconfirm the definite violent intent, and I resent the accusation of treason,” Harry interjects. He rather feels that treason is in the eye of the beholder.
Kingsley gives him the side-eye. “You five are in charge of this investigation as of this moment,” he says. “Keep your findings between us for now.”
With that, Kingsley exits Patil’s office, and the rest of them are left staring at one another.
“So,” says Greengrass. “Pub?”
---
They do end up going to the pub.
“I do have some information about the Third Circle,” Harry begins, but Greengrass interrupts him.
“Oh, no. First, Potter, you’re going to tell us all about your and the Weaselette’s breakup, and how Mummy Weasel reacted when she found out,” Greengrass says smugly.
“One,” says Ron, “don’t call my sister that. Two, don’t call my mum that. Three, I agree, Harry, tell us.”
Harry looks beseechingly to Patil and Nott. Patil’s bright eyes indicate that she’s equally as invested in his love life, and Nott only shrugs and says, “It’s good for morale. We’re a team, now, after all.”
Harry makes a face at them all. “Fine. Ginny and I felt we’re looking for different things out of life. We’ve been drifting for a while, I guess—”
“You guess?” asks Patil disbelievingly.
“—But we officially broke up… two weeks ago, now? And then she introduced me to Tom.”
“‘Fit’ Tom,” says Greengrass, smirking.
“MUTANT Tom,” says Patil. When everyone looks at her, she says, “Oh, come on… You didn’t think this was all lining up a little too tidily? Potter said he knows our ministry thief isn’t the book hoarding MUTANT, and he’s quietly investigating it and not sharing with the class? Scandal! And why would Potter be going to him for information on our books, information that we can’t find anywhere else, unless Potter has reason to believe Fit Tom knows?”
“Oh, Merlin,” says Ron. “Harry…”
“I’ve been investigating to make sure no crime has been committed,” says Harry, as mildly as he can. “From what I can determine, none of those books warrant arrest or seizure for possession. At least, not under the reclassification law that was just passed. Even the Dark artifacts we found were rather tame. At worst, they might call for a fine for not applying for a permit, but even that’s rather a heavy-handed sentence.”
“Unless one of the rituals has actually been used,” says Greengrass, glowing. “Particularly one of the gross ones. So that’s why you’d done whatever it is you did to make magic visible. Not to ‘reinspect the storeroom’ at all! You went out to meet him, and you were checking him for Dark magic!”
Close enough. Perhaps even too close for comfort. “Yes, well, I didn’t find anything,” says Harry. “So I’m inclined to file it as an unlawful use of government force given the changed law, issue a public apology, and let it lie.”
“You mean that even when we get them back, we won’t be able to keep the books?” Greengrass pouts. “I don’t suppose Fit Tom would be willing to share? Maybe he likes blondes,” she speculates, twirling a strand of hair, smirking at him.
Ron snorts. “Yeah, not with the way he was staring at Harry all night when I met him.”
“Anyway,” says Harry. “I asked Tom—”
“Fit Tom,” says Nott, grinning.
Harry rolls his eyes. “Oh, for—fine, I asked Fit Tom about the Third Circle. He says that the time has passed to conduct the ritual, but a casual translator might not realise that, in which case we can expect a human sacrifice in three days or so.”
That silences the table.
“Unless they’re using one of the other rituals,” Harry continues, “but I don’t think we can take that chance. So what can we do to find our new MUTANT?”
Patil hums. “I’m guessing that the visualisation of the Imperius Curse didn’t give any indication of who cast it?”
“Not that I could tell,” says Harry, “but honestly, I don’t know what’d I’d look for. There were lots of little tentacle things going in every direction.”
“Yes, well, it’s considered undetectable for a reason,” Nott muses. “And the fact that after the initial casting, there’s no need for the curser and the cursed to be in close proximity to one another unless new orders are issued… That’s a major complication when it comes to narrowing down the suspects, especially since we don’t know exactly when the curse was cast. We can only guess that the casting happened during that first day after the books, et cetera, were seized, and before Jakobs joined the team.”
“Unless the caster is Jakobs,” says Ron. “She’d make the most sense at this point, I’m sorry to say.”
“The one decent junior we had,” sighs Greengrass mournfully.
“Have you had the chance to dig up anything new since this morning?” asks Harry.
“Nothing interesting on the Gringotts angle,” says Ron.
“No Floo calls at all,” says Nott. “Not that he’d need them. Turns out he lives with his mum, dad and sister.”
“Well, Muggle Mum didn’t cast the Imperius,” says Greengrass drily. “I was checking into potential spells and potions that Everett could be influenced by, but you beat me to that. All I can say for sure is that he goes through an absurd amount of Pepper Up.”
“I found something in contact tracing,” Patil volunteers. “Everett’s mum comes by the ministry muggle entrance every day to drop off his lunch.”
“Er,” says Ron. “What? That’s weird, right?”
Patil raises her brows. “I thought so. As Daphne said, she obviously can’t be the one casting the curse,” Patil nods at Greengrass, “but it’s still interesting.”
“How deep into the ministry does she get?” asks Harry.
“Just to the help desk. He comes down to meet her,” says Patil.
Ron collapses to the table with a groan. “So we either have Junior Jakobs or Muggle Mum? I hate this case.”
Harry nods absently in agreement. “I think it’s best if we’re not seen together,” he says.
Greengrass chokes.
Patil smiles at him sweetly. “Is that what you told Fit Tom?”
“No, that’s not what I—” Harry cuts himself off and glares at them. “I mean I don’t think we should be seen working together on the case. Let’s seem like we’re all going in different directions, with no idea what’s going on. Watch Jacobs, watch Everett, watch his mum, maybe, but do our best to be quiet about it.”
Nott shrugs. “I’m all for expensing my beer,” he says. “Though I’m hurt that you don’t want to go public with me, Potter. How must Fit Tom feel?”
“I hate you, and I’m leaving,” says Harry. He looks at Ron. “I’ll see you later?”
Ron grins. “Yeah, you will, and I’d better get more details if you’re expecting an ally at mum’s brunch this Sunday.”
Harry sighs. “Fine,” he says, and he hurries away before they can tease him anymore.
---
Harry closes the door to his office behind the last of a long train of junior aurors with questions about case procedure.
It’s a little after he usually heads home, and he’s thinking of simply meeting Ron at the pub.
Again. It feels as though he’s been spending an inordinate amount of his time in pubs and cafes lately.
He’ll have to tell Ron the truth about Tom.
Well, he probably won’t actually have to. He suspects that, if he asked, Hermione would keep this secret for him. But it would hurt her, to keep this from Ron, her fiancé, and Harry thinks that maybe it would hurt him, too.
And Tom seems to want to stay around.
Harry fingers the wrinkled piece of parchment that Tom had slipped into his pocket during lunch.
Dinner on Saturday? Just you and me.
It sounds like the set up for a date. It is the set-up for a date. When Tom comes, it’ll be a date. Harry will be on a date with Tom. Tom who is Tom Riddle. Tom who Harry will be telling Ron about tonight.
It feels like a decision.
Harry’s let himself float around, barely moored, for long enough. It’s time to sink into his roots again.
Harry sits heavily into his chair and reaches for the Stone.
“Professor?” he asks, his eyes closed. He casts a reflexive silencing charm around the office. “I know the fairytale warns against using the Resurrection Stone, but can’t it be safe in moderation? How much reliance on the Stone is too much?”
Albus Dumbledore says, “Only you can judge that, Harry.” His tone of voice suggests that he’s smiling. His eyes are probably twinkling, too.
Harry makes a face. “You are extremely unhelpful, as always. Sir.” There’s a reason Harry hasn’t reached out to his old headmaster since he met him at the train station.
“The Stone was lost for so long, Harry. Whatever secrets of its powers and its curses were learned by the heirs of Cadmus, they have not been shared with the world. And,” Albus adds dryly, “as the family was known more for their ambition than their good sense, it may well be that they learned no lessons at all.”
“More ambition than sense,” Harry muses. “Traits that you share with them, Professor?”
Harry hears a sigh.
Dumbledore says, “Yes, I suppose so. It seems a hideous irony that I, who proved myself so young to be untrustworthy with power, should have found myself so constantly in possession of it.”
Harry snorts. “If you’re bad at something, you should practise until you’re better at it. Anyway, you put yourself into those positions of power. You turned away from politics, but you became a professor. Do you think professors hold no power over their students? And then, you accepted the role of deputy headmaster and headmaster, Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock. And when you became a leader in the war, you kept everything you know to yourself rather than trusting anyone with information and getting their help and opinions. And I can think of a number of your decisions that definitely could have been improved with some constructive criticisms.”
There’s a long pause. “It sounds as though you’ve kept this bottled in for some time, Harry.”
“They kept me in a cupboard under the stairs,” Harry snarls. He’s never said that out loud before. He had gone to some lengths to avoid saying it out loud, letting Ron and Hermione figure out the truth through a series of Yes/No quizzes and drinking games.
“I’m so sorry, my boy,” says Dumbledore, and Harry hates that he really does sound sorry. “Where do you think the Death Eaters would have kept you, when they found you? It would have been the work of days for even the most incompetant of them, without the blood protection keeping you safe. We could have taken you on the run, in which case you would have been raised with equal or greater privations and much more danger.”
Harry squeezes his hands into fists. “Greater privations, more danger, and people who cared for my well-being. Seems like an improvement to me.” Harry tries to calm himself. This isn’t even what he’d wanted to talk to Dumbledore about, but it seems that Dumbledore wasn’t wrong when he said that Harry had kept a lot bottled up inside. “For someone who spent so long lecturing me about the power of love, you seem to be curiously ignorant of it.”
“Yes,” says Dumbledore. “Why do you think that I was helpless to change the tide of the war? You had something. A power the Dark Lord knew not. Love. In truth, I understood love no better than he did, for all that I’d had more encounters with it. And more respect for it.”
They rest in silence for some time.
“I’m sorry, Professor,” says Harry at last. “You made mistakes, a lot of them, but I’d already forgiven you for them. I forgave you when I met you the last time, at the train station. I’m not sure why I came to pieces like this.”
Dumbledore smiles. “Aren’t you? Forgiving is not the same as forgetting, my boy, nor does forgiveness make the wounds any less painful. I’m grateful to you, for speaking to me like this. Perhaps, with a little corrective discipline, I may even learn something!”
“It’s never too late to teach an old wizard new tricks?” asks Harry wryly. He finally opens his eyes and looks at the shade of the old man. Dumbledore’s clothing is as eccentric as always, and the eyes beneath the half-moon spectacles are as twinkling as ever.
“Just so, just so,” says Dumbledore cheerfully.
“Professor, about the Stone,” Harry begins.
Dumbledore interrupts him. “Harry, there is great wisdom to be learned from the past—and the dead. The dangers of the Stone are no greater than the dangers of any obsession. Trust in your family and your friends the way I did not trust in mine, and I am confident that you will use the Stone safely and well.”
“Thank you, Professor,” says Harry, and he lets Dumbledore go.
He’s not sure how long he sits there at his desk, staring into space, before a knock sounds at his door.
He cancels the silencing charm. “Enter,” he calls, and he winces when he casts a quick tempus that reveals him to be running late. The door opens as he’s standing and messily collecting his belongings into his bag. He’d never learned to be any good at that spell, and he feels a pang when he recalls Tonks’s terrible job packing for him all those years ago.
“Oh dear,” says Hermione, stepping into the office. “Why don’t I do that?”
“It’s fine,” he says. “What do you need? Only, I’m supposed to be meeting Ron soon…”
“Yes, at the pub, when you’ve already been once today,” says Hermione disapprovingly. “I have rather a suspicion as to what you’ll be discussing, and I thought you might want me there. Of course, if you don’t—I don’t want to intrude on any boy talk.” Hermione makes a face.
Harry laughs. “If Ron doesn’t mind, you’re welcome to come. You’re right, it might help a little.”
“Alright.” Hermione comes over to hug him tightly. “You know that we’ll back you up, no matter what? It just might take some… some adjustment, at first.”
“Believe me,” says Harry. “I know.”
“Well, then.” Hermione tucks her hand into his arm and drags him away. “Why don’t we just go to yours for dinner? Surely you’re tired of all the pub food already.”
Harry shrugs. “Fine by me.” He locks his office behind them. “Kreacher,” he calls. There is no popping sound, and Kreacher does not appear. “I’ll have two guests for supper, please,” he says. Hermione frowns at him severely, but she manages to withhold any comments.
“The meal will be ready when Master returns home,” says Kreacher.
Hermione cranes her neck behind them, but Harry knows from experience that Kreacher is not visible.
“Thank you, Kreacher,” Harry says, and there is no response. Harry turns to Hermione. “Is Ron back at yours?”
“I think he’s still in his office. Shall we all go together, or do you need some time to yourself, first?”
Harry smiles at her. “Not today. Let’s go.”
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Characters: Tomarry, brief!Harry/Ginny, Harry & Ginny, Ginny & Tom, Harry & Hermione & Ron, Hermione/Ron, Severus Snape & Harry
Rating: M
Chapter Word Count: 4,630
Chapter Count: 5 / 6 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2| Chapter 3 | Chapter 4
Summary: AU: EWE; MoD!Harry. Harry Potter, saviour of magical Britain, has proved himself to be great at dying and coming back again. He’s just not as good at the bits in between coming back and dying again.
Notes:
Rolf hadn’t been exaggerating. The colours of visible magic shown by the Iriran Oje potion are so much brighter what Harry is accustomed to from dipping his spectacles in the Hyggja At.
He stumbles slightly as he makes his way through ministry halls, which are glowing with a complex web of interlaced charms. Harry recognises many of the protection wards, but some of them, the ones buried deeply under layers of other spells, are completely new to him despite the fact that they thrum with age.
Harry almost wants to stay and investigate, but he suspects that even his pristine reputation as an auror wouldn’t hold up to him staring at the walls muttering to himself. And anyway, if he lingers any longer, he’ll be late to lunch.
Ginny and Tom have chosen a cafe that’s a little upscale for Harry’s tastes, but the ostentatiousness is lessened by the fact that they opted for a table outside.
The deck is decorated as a garden, with the tables placed in lovely little pockets of magical plants and trees. It makes each table feel as though it’s set in its own private room.
Ginny and Tom both stand to greet him. Ginny busses his cheek in a friendly sort of way, and Tom kisses Harry’s hand with a courtly bow that has Harry flushing and biting his inside cheek.
“I’m sorry that I couldn’t make it last night,” Ginny tells Harry insincerely. “I do hope that you managed to enjoy yourselves without me.”
“We did alright,” says Harry, not meeting her eyes.
Ginny smirks at him.
Three menus float over to their table, and for a moment, they’re quiet as they decide what to order.
“So,” says Harry as the menus speed off to the kitchen. “Did you manage to find anything interesting?”
As Ginny describes her search for another copy of Raising the Dead, Harry studies her closely. The Iriran Oje lets him see the deep glow of her magical core, the glimmer of her cosmetic charms, the protection spells she’s woven into her jewelry, but it reveals no compulsion spell or any other sign that her mind has been tampered with.
Neither Ginny nor Tom show any of the tell-tale shadows of truly Dark magic.
Harry tries to decide whether or not he’s disappointed.
“And what about you?” asks Ginny. “How is the case progressing?”
Harry makes a face. “It’s not. We’re starting to believe that our suspect may just be using your old set-up to complete a rite, though, rather than picking up anything new. So that limits them to...”
“The same rites we used: The Returning Reign, the Red Pheasant, and the Third Circle,” says Tom. “And also a mild headache reliever, if they’re so inclined.”
Ginny shakes her head. “They’d have to be Merlin himself to get the Red Pheasant to work any time soon. It took us more than a year to build up a magical power source strong enough for what we needed, and that was with us using some… inspired methods. And the Third Circle is completely out of the question, of course.”
“Mmm, yes,” says Tom. “But do they know that?”
“I mentioned it at our first department-wide meeting for the case,” Harry admits. “But I didn’t remember any details, and I still don’t. Something about astrological conditions that only occur every hundred years or so.”
Ginny and Tom exchange glances. “And you just… knew that. Right off the top of your head?” asks Ginny dubiously.
Harry shrugs. After effectively revealing his closet necromancy interests to the entire Auror Department, sharing it with Ginny and Tom is nothing. “It’s a hobby.”
Ginny snorts; Tom’s eyes are bright.
“But anyway,” says Harry, “they have the book now. All the books. And your special translation of Raising the Dead will be pretty clear on what’s needed, right?”
Ginny makes a face. “To a given definition of ‘clear.’”
“One of the great joys of translation,” says Tom loftily, ignoring Ginny mock gagging beside him, “is puzzling out the author’s underlying intention as well as their explicitly stated words. In this case, a deeper understanding of the colloquial terminology of the time allowed us to dismiss the implied conditions for the literal translation and instead settle on the correct timing for the ritual: approximately 3 and a half months ago.”
“Okay,” says Harry slowly. “But someone only using a literal translation would assume the timing would be… when?”
“In three days,” Ginny supplies. “Right around sunset.”
“And what happens if they try to conduct the ritual then?”
Tom tilts his head to one side. “Nothing undeadly,” he says, and Harry sags with relief until Tom continues. “On the other hand, someone will die.”
Harry jerks up. “What?”
Their food arrives, and the scent of it as it appears on the table is divine. Harry doesn’t even look at it.
Tom casually unfolds his napkin to free his silverware. “As Ginerva mentioned, it is very unlikely that they’ll manage to use the Red Pheasant ritual to create a living receptacle the way we did. This means that they’ll require a human sacrifice to contain the soul they intend to summon. No soul will actually be summoned, of course, but our would-be necromancer will only find that out after they have laid their sacrifice to rest in the potion.”
Harry closes his eyes. “What about the last rite?”
“Other than the headache cure, I assume?” asks Tom, smiling.
Harry scowls at him. “The possession rite. Returning Reign.”
Tom’s eyes go dark with interest. “You do seem to know your way around a necromancy pentagram, love.”
“There isn’t much damage they could do with that one on its own,” Ginny muses. “Summon souls? Not a big deal. Minor possession? Whatever. After the candles burn down, the soul just pops back to the other side. Unless they’re anchored to a living body, anyway, but we used the Third Circle for that.”
Harry licks his lips. “The feeling around the office,” he says, ignoring the way Tom’s eyes are fixed on him, “is that the goal is to resurrect Voldemort.”
Tom smirks. “A little late to the party, are they?”
Ginny giggles.
“What would happen if they did try to summon Voldemort’s soul?” asks Harry. “Would they be able to summon any of the soul pieces remaining beyond the Veil? I couldn’t, but…”
Ginny covers her mouth with her hand, eyes wide. “You… tried?”
Tom is frozen, his fork halfway up to his mouth.
“Er...” says Harry.
“What rite did you use?” asks Tom.
“The Resurrection Stone,” Harry confesses. “From the Tale of the Three Brothers.”
“The children’s story?” asks Ginny, disbelievingly.
“Do you have the Elder Wand?” asks Tom.
“Can we please focus?” demands Harry crossly.
Tom leans back in his eye, his eyes bright with curiosity. “Of course,” he says, visibly restraining himself. “It’s most likely that nothing would happen at all if they attempted to summon me. I’m not sure what would have occurred while my soul was still fractured in Death’s realm, but I am now… whole.”
“We used the Returning Reign rite as well,” says Ginny. “With it, we were able to piece Tom’s soul back together.”
Harry’s eyes narrow at Tom. “You deliberately left that out of our discussion last night.”
Tom meets his gaze calmly. “It wasn’t relevant. I am, primarily, the Diary horcrux. Mine was the largest of the soul pieces by far, and even without that, the length of time I spent growing and healing with Ginerva would have been enough to give me the edge when it came to power. And the other soul pieces were rather…”
“Damaged,” supplies Harry, remembering his own encounters with each of the horcruxes.
Tom winces, but he agrees. “Quite. I remember their experiences, but it’s blurry, as though I’m remembering…” he visibly struggles to explain himself.
“A drunken bender,” says Ginny.
Tom gives her a look, but finally he nods. “More or less.”
“Okay,” says Harry. “So you’re all one big happy soul now. And since you’ve got a body of your own, the Returning Reign rite definitely won’t work on you?”
Tom hesitates. “Probably won’t work on me.”
Harry stares at him. “Great. So, what we have is a wannabe necromancer who’s either going to murder someone to no effect, summon you to no effect, or succeed in summoning you, with lots of effects.”
Ginny says, “Not quite to no effect in the second case. It’s very evident that the Returning Reign rite is connected, so if no soul appears, the obvious explanation is…”
“That you’re actually not dead.” Harry rubs his forehead tiredly, feeling his palm scrape over his old scar. “Excellent. Just what we need.”
“Good thing Harry Potter is on the case,” says Tom mildly. “Is anyone in the mood for dessert?”
Harry is still feeling dazed when he returns to the ministry, and so he isn’t paying close enough attention as he trots down the corridor.
He’s thinking of the evidence storeroom that the original Dark Muggle Investigation team had been using. There could be residual traces of some magic that he hadn’t noticed when he’d done his first sweep of the room after the theft. He might as well take a look, as long as he’s still under the influence of the Iriran Oje. He takes a sudden left and runs head-on into someone hurrying in the opposite direction.
“Sorry, sorry!” comes a familiar voice from under a miasma of colours.
“Everett?” asks Harry. He tries not to squint reflexively to see through the magic wrapped around Everett’s head like an opalescent octopus. “Where are you off to?”
“We have another round of interviews scheduled,” pipes up Peters. When Harry turns to look at her, he finds that her whole head is likewise engulfed in a swirling mass of tentacles.
“Good, good,” says Harry. His stomach is sinking rapidly. “Do you know where I can find Burnes and Jakobs?”
Two hours later, Harry has not made it to the storeroom, but he has found Burnes and Jakobs.
Harry grabs some memo paper off of a trainee and scribbles out, Meet me at Patil’s office. He waves off fives copies of it.
Ron, Nott, and Greengrass are already in Patil’s office, along with Patil herself, when Harry arrives.
“Hi again, sorry,” says Harry. “Ron, is it alright if I cast the Imperius Curse on you for a second?”
Everyone stares at him.
“Er,” says Ron. “Do I want to know why?”
A knock sounds at the door, and Harry nods to Patil to open it.
“You summoned me, Potter?” says Kingsley wryly.
Harry cringes. “Minister, sir,” he says.
Kingsley’s lips twitch in amusement. “Just tell me why I’m here, Potter.”
“I took a potion that makes magic visible,” says Harry. “To help me reinspect the breached evidence storeroom, among other things. But before I could make it to the storeroom, I ran into Everett and Peters.”
“So they are hexed,” says Greengrass smugly, seeing the point he’s leading them to. “I knew those idiot senior aurors couldn’t be trusted.”
Kingsley’s eyebrows shoot up.
“To be fair, the Imperius Curse is generally considered to be undetectable,” says Patil. “So you want to compare the visible representation of a known Imperius to the phenomenon you observed around Everett and Peters?”
“And you need my approval to cast an Unforgivable,” sighs Kingsley. “Well, who’s the victim?”
Ron groans in resignation. “Fine,” he says. “Just don’t make me do anything stupid, please?”
Harry casts, and the same uncomfortable swirl of tentacle-like colours flow around Ron’s head as he’d seen around Everett and the others.
“Well?” asks Patil.
Harry ends the spell. “It’s the same,” he says, rubbing his forehead. “I’ll make a copy of my memories for you.”
Kingsley nods. “What about the rest of the team? Burnes and Jakobs?”
“I checked them out,” Harry confirms. “Burnes is cursed, too. Jakobs is clean, but she joined the team a day later when I moved her over from misdemeanor response.”
“This is excellent news!” says Greengrass. When everyone stares at her, she adds, “Well, isn’t it? We were splitting hairs, trying to figure out what motive Everett could possibly have! And now that we know that the motive isn’t his at all, it’ll be easier to move forward!”
“Back to the good ole Death Eaters,” says Ron.
“Back to square one,” corrects Nott. “We know Everett, at least, was definitely the one in possession of the books, and contact tracing of him came up clean, remember?”
Everyone looks at Harry.
“Yeah,” says Harry. “It seems as though he hasn’t done anything but work and go home, except…” he hesitates.
“Except?” asks Kingsley.
“He bought a Pepper Up Potion from Most Potente Plants,” says Harry slowly. “I suppose he could have handed the books off there.”
“Talk to the owners; find out who else was in that shop, even if you need to search their memories.” Kingsley looks at each of them. “It was one thing when we had a simple case of an enthusiastic reader, and another when we had a case of a security breach in the ministry. I hope I don’t have to tell you that casting an Unforgivable on a team of aurors is an act of willful violence, and it’s considered intent to commit treason.”
“As someone who has broken into the ministry on multiple occasions and cast Unforgivables in the process, I can disconfirm the definite violent intent, and I resent the accusation of treason,” Harry interjects. He rather feels that treason is in the eye of the beholder.
Kingsley gives him the side-eye. “You five are in charge of this investigation as of this moment,” he says. “Keep your findings between us for now.”
With that, Kingsley exits Patil’s office, and the rest of them are left staring at one another.
“So,” says Greengrass. “Pub?”
They do end up going to the pub.
“I do have some information about the Third Circle,” Harry begins, but Greengrass interrupts him.
“Oh, no. First, Potter, you’re going to tell us all about your and the Weaselette’s breakup, and how Mummy Weasel reacted when she found out,” Greengrass says smugly.
“One,” says Ron, “don’t call my sister that. Two, don’t call my mum that. Three, I agree, Harry, tell us.”
Harry looks beseechingly to Patil and Nott. Patil’s bright eyes indicate that she’s equally as invested in his love life, and Nott only shrugs and says, “It’s good for morale. We’re a team, now, after all.”
Harry makes a face at them all. “Fine. Ginny and I felt we’re looking for different things out of life. We’ve been drifting for a while, I guess—”
“You guess?” asks Patil disbelievingly.
“—But we officially broke up… two weeks ago, now? And then she introduced me to Tom.”
“‘Fit’ Tom,” says Greengrass, smirking.
“MUTANT Tom,” says Patil. When everyone looks at her, she says, “Oh, come on… You didn’t think this was all lining up a little too tidily? Potter said he knows our ministry thief isn’t the book hoarding MUTANT, and he’s quietly investigating it and not sharing with the class? Scandal! And why would Potter be going to him for information on our books, information that we can’t find anywhere else, unless Potter has reason to believe Fit Tom knows?”
“Oh, Merlin,” says Ron. “Harry…”
“I’ve been investigating to make sure no crime has been committed,” says Harry, as mildly as he can. “From what I can determine, none of those books warrant arrest or seizure for possession. At least, not under the reclassification law that was just passed. Even the Dark artifacts we found were rather tame. At worst, they might call for a fine for not applying for a permit, but even that’s rather a heavy-handed sentence.”
“Unless one of the rituals has actually been used,” says Greengrass, glowing. “Particularly one of the gross ones. So that’s why you’d done whatever it is you did to make magic visible. Not to ‘reinspect the storeroom’ at all! You went out to meet him, and you were checking him for Dark magic!”
Close enough. Perhaps even too close for comfort. “Yes, well, I didn’t find anything,” says Harry. “So I’m inclined to file it as an unlawful use of government force given the changed law, issue a public apology, and let it lie.”
“You mean that even when we get them back, we won’t be able to keep the books?” Greengrass pouts. “I don’t suppose Fit Tom would be willing to share? Maybe he likes blondes,” she speculates, twirling a strand of hair, smirking at him.
Ron snorts. “Yeah, not with the way he was staring at Harry all night when I met him.”
“Anyway,” says Harry. “I asked Tom—”
“Fit Tom,” says Nott, grinning.
Harry rolls his eyes. “Oh, for—fine, I asked Fit Tom about the Third Circle. He says that the time has passed to conduct the ritual, but a casual translator might not realise that, in which case we can expect a human sacrifice in three days or so.”
That silences the table.
“Unless they’re using one of the other rituals,” Harry continues, “but I don’t think we can take that chance. So what can we do to find our new MUTANT?”
Patil hums. “I’m guessing that the visualisation of the Imperius Curse didn’t give any indication of who cast it?”
“Not that I could tell,” says Harry, “but honestly, I don’t know what’d I’d look for. There were lots of little tentacle things going in every direction.”
“Yes, well, it’s considered undetectable for a reason,” Nott muses. “And the fact that after the initial casting, there’s no need for the curser and the cursed to be in close proximity to one another unless new orders are issued… That’s a major complication when it comes to narrowing down the suspects, especially since we don’t know exactly when the curse was cast. We can only guess that the casting happened during that first day after the books, et cetera, were seized, and before Jakobs joined the team.”
“Unless the caster is Jakobs,” says Ron. “She’d make the most sense at this point, I’m sorry to say.”
“The one decent junior we had,” sighs Greengrass mournfully.
“Have you had the chance to dig up anything new since this morning?” asks Harry.
“Nothing interesting on the Gringotts angle,” says Ron.
“No Floo calls at all,” says Nott. “Not that he’d need them. Turns out he lives with his mum, dad and sister.”
“Well, Muggle Mum didn’t cast the Imperius,” says Greengrass drily. “I was checking into potential spells and potions that Everett could be influenced by, but you beat me to that. All I can say for sure is that he goes through an absurd amount of Pepper Up.”
“I found something in contact tracing,” Patil volunteers. “Everett’s mum comes by the ministry muggle entrance every day to drop off his lunch.”
“Er,” says Ron. “What? That’s weird, right?”
Patil raises her brows. “I thought so. As Daphne said, she obviously can’t be the one casting the curse,” Patil nods at Greengrass, “but it’s still interesting.”
“How deep into the ministry does she get?” asks Harry.
“Just to the help desk. He comes down to meet her,” says Patil.
Ron collapses to the table with a groan. “So we either have Junior Jakobs or Muggle Mum? I hate this case.”
Harry nods absently in agreement. “I think it’s best if we’re not seen together,” he says.
Greengrass chokes.
Patil smiles at him sweetly. “Is that what you told Fit Tom?”
“No, that’s not what I—” Harry cuts himself off and glares at them. “I mean I don’t think we should be seen working together on the case. Let’s seem like we’re all going in different directions, with no idea what’s going on. Watch Jacobs, watch Everett, watch his mum, maybe, but do our best to be quiet about it.”
Nott shrugs. “I’m all for expensing my beer,” he says. “Though I’m hurt that you don’t want to go public with me, Potter. How must Fit Tom feel?”
“I hate you, and I’m leaving,” says Harry. He looks at Ron. “I’ll see you later?”
Ron grins. “Yeah, you will, and I’d better get more details if you’re expecting an ally at mum’s brunch this Sunday.”
Harry sighs. “Fine,” he says, and he hurries away before they can tease him anymore.
Harry closes the door to his office behind the last of a long train of junior aurors with questions about case procedure.
It’s a little after he usually heads home, and he’s thinking of simply meeting Ron at the pub.
Again. It feels as though he’s been spending an inordinate amount of his time in pubs and cafes lately.
He’ll have to tell Ron the truth about Tom.
Well, he probably won’t actually have to. He suspects that, if he asked, Hermione would keep this secret for him. But it would hurt her, to keep this from Ron, her fiancé, and Harry thinks that maybe it would hurt him, too.
And Tom seems to want to stay around.
Harry fingers the wrinkled piece of parchment that Tom had slipped into his pocket during lunch.
Dinner on Saturday? Just you and me.
It sounds like the set up for a date. It is the set-up for a date. When Tom comes, it’ll be a date. Harry will be on a date with Tom. Tom who is Tom Riddle. Tom who Harry will be telling Ron about tonight.
It feels like a decision.
Harry’s let himself float around, barely moored, for long enough. It’s time to sink into his roots again.
Harry sits heavily into his chair and reaches for the Stone.
“Professor?” he asks, his eyes closed. He casts a reflexive silencing charm around the office. “I know the fairytale warns against using the Resurrection Stone, but can’t it be safe in moderation? How much reliance on the Stone is too much?”
Albus Dumbledore says, “Only you can judge that, Harry.” His tone of voice suggests that he’s smiling. His eyes are probably twinkling, too.
Harry makes a face. “You are extremely unhelpful, as always. Sir.” There’s a reason Harry hasn’t reached out to his old headmaster since he met him at the train station.
“The Stone was lost for so long, Harry. Whatever secrets of its powers and its curses were learned by the heirs of Cadmus, they have not been shared with the world. And,” Albus adds dryly, “as the family was known more for their ambition than their good sense, it may well be that they learned no lessons at all.”
“More ambition than sense,” Harry muses. “Traits that you share with them, Professor?”
Harry hears a sigh.
Dumbledore says, “Yes, I suppose so. It seems a hideous irony that I, who proved myself so young to be untrustworthy with power, should have found myself so constantly in possession of it.”
Harry snorts. “If you’re bad at something, you should practise until you’re better at it. Anyway, you put yourself into those positions of power. You turned away from politics, but you became a professor. Do you think professors hold no power over their students? And then, you accepted the role of deputy headmaster and headmaster, Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock. And when you became a leader in the war, you kept everything you know to yourself rather than trusting anyone with information and getting their help and opinions. And I can think of a number of your decisions that definitely could have been improved with some constructive criticisms.”
There’s a long pause. “It sounds as though you’ve kept this bottled in for some time, Harry.”
“They kept me in a cupboard under the stairs,” Harry snarls. He’s never said that out loud before. He had gone to some lengths to avoid saying it out loud, letting Ron and Hermione figure out the truth through a series of Yes/No quizzes and drinking games.
“I’m so sorry, my boy,” says Dumbledore, and Harry hates that he really does sound sorry. “Where do you think the Death Eaters would have kept you, when they found you? It would have been the work of days for even the most incompetant of them, without the blood protection keeping you safe. We could have taken you on the run, in which case you would have been raised with equal or greater privations and much more danger.”
Harry squeezes his hands into fists. “Greater privations, more danger, and people who cared for my well-being. Seems like an improvement to me.” Harry tries to calm himself. This isn’t even what he’d wanted to talk to Dumbledore about, but it seems that Dumbledore wasn’t wrong when he said that Harry had kept a lot bottled up inside. “For someone who spent so long lecturing me about the power of love, you seem to be curiously ignorant of it.”
“Yes,” says Dumbledore. “Why do you think that I was helpless to change the tide of the war? You had something. A power the Dark Lord knew not. Love. In truth, I understood love no better than he did, for all that I’d had more encounters with it. And more respect for it.”
They rest in silence for some time.
“I’m sorry, Professor,” says Harry at last. “You made mistakes, a lot of them, but I’d already forgiven you for them. I forgave you when I met you the last time, at the train station. I’m not sure why I came to pieces like this.”
Dumbledore smiles. “Aren’t you? Forgiving is not the same as forgetting, my boy, nor does forgiveness make the wounds any less painful. I’m grateful to you, for speaking to me like this. Perhaps, with a little corrective discipline, I may even learn something!”
“It’s never too late to teach an old wizard new tricks?” asks Harry wryly. He finally opens his eyes and looks at the shade of the old man. Dumbledore’s clothing is as eccentric as always, and the eyes beneath the half-moon spectacles are as twinkling as ever.
“Just so, just so,” says Dumbledore cheerfully.
“Professor, about the Stone,” Harry begins.
Dumbledore interrupts him. “Harry, there is great wisdom to be learned from the past—and the dead. The dangers of the Stone are no greater than the dangers of any obsession. Trust in your family and your friends the way I did not trust in mine, and I am confident that you will use the Stone safely and well.”
“Thank you, Professor,” says Harry, and he lets Dumbledore go.
He’s not sure how long he sits there at his desk, staring into space, before a knock sounds at his door.
He cancels the silencing charm. “Enter,” he calls, and he winces when he casts a quick tempus that reveals him to be running late. The door opens as he’s standing and messily collecting his belongings into his bag. He’d never learned to be any good at that spell, and he feels a pang when he recalls Tonks’s terrible job packing for him all those years ago.
“Oh dear,” says Hermione, stepping into the office. “Why don’t I do that?”
“It’s fine,” he says. “What do you need? Only, I’m supposed to be meeting Ron soon…”
“Yes, at the pub, when you’ve already been once today,” says Hermione disapprovingly. “I have rather a suspicion as to what you’ll be discussing, and I thought you might want me there. Of course, if you don’t—I don’t want to intrude on any boy talk.” Hermione makes a face.
Harry laughs. “If Ron doesn’t mind, you’re welcome to come. You’re right, it might help a little.”
“Alright.” Hermione comes over to hug him tightly. “You know that we’ll back you up, no matter what? It just might take some… some adjustment, at first.”
“Believe me,” says Harry. “I know.”
“Well, then.” Hermione tucks her hand into his arm and drags him away. “Why don’t we just go to yours for dinner? Surely you’re tired of all the pub food already.”
Harry shrugs. “Fine by me.” He locks his office behind them. “Kreacher,” he calls. There is no popping sound, and Kreacher does not appear. “I’ll have two guests for supper, please,” he says. Hermione frowns at him severely, but she manages to withhold any comments.
“The meal will be ready when Master returns home,” says Kreacher.
Hermione cranes her neck behind them, but Harry knows from experience that Kreacher is not visible.
“Thank you, Kreacher,” Harry says, and there is no response. Harry turns to Hermione. “Is Ron back at yours?”
“I think he’s still in his office. Shall we all go together, or do you need some time to yourself, first?”
Harry smiles at her. “Not today. Let’s go.”