Chapter Text
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.
The wind whipped black waves higher, slamming them into the hull of the ship and washing water over the sides. The crew had secured their cargo, but now they had to secure their ship. No one wanted to be lost at sea in the middle of this mess. Magic or not, their chances of getting out would be slim if the ship was lost.
The ship was old, and every time it creaked, or tipped on a wave, Marlene wondered if it would fall apart beneath her feet. It bore two tall masts with sails, filled with bespelled wind to keep the ship from faltering if the air fell dead and still. The wood of the deck was old and warped. It had taken on its own kind of character, knots in the wood standing out against the salt-ridden, the sail-cloth yellowed with age. In places it was torn, and Marlene was sure it was only magic that made them still sea-worthy.
She had been adjacent to the smuggling business for years, as Artis – part of the family business, though a side not all the family knew about. But she had overseen business deals and ledgers, not made voyages herself. This had been an education.
Marlene, though the captain knew her as Artis, had asked about sailing back to London. The captain had scoffed at her. If you want to get arrested on your first voyage out, he’d said, laughing, be my guest. But it won’t be on my ship. This old girl’s my good luck charm, and I won’t see her get impounded for a rookie mistake.
The magical routes across the Channel were old, dating back centuries, and well-established through their long history of hexes, wards, and magic – muggle ships wouldn’t pass through them, except to cross, and magical ships ran no risk of exposure. But they were also monitored now by each respective Ministry, and smugglers taking the ferry routes and shipping lanes ran high risks. But there were other ways. The oldest smuggling routes had their own sort of magic to them, grown and changed over time. They hid themselves well, especially from any authority looking to shut them down, but they didn’t open to just anyone – or any ship. Though Marlene might have her doubts about the seaworthiness of their vessel, the Smugglers’ Passage – that old, meandering, lengthy, and occasionally whimsical shipping lane– recognized the ship, and they were allowed to pass.
She walked across the rolling deck, swaying a little – she hadn’t yet gotten her sea legs. Thankfully, she wasn’t seasick, or instead of gazing out at the midday sun sparkling on the tumultuous waters, she would be looking down at it in quite a bit of discomfort. As the ship groaned and shifted around her, the captain stepped up to her side, grinning.
“I tol’ you she’s a fine old girl,” he said, and ran one loving hand along a battered and sagging railing.
“You’re sure she’ll hold together?” Marlene asked. “It looks to me like she’s floating on magic and hope right now.”
“True enough,” the captain said, “but that’s in the finest tradition of wizarding smugglers for the last five hundred years. The old smuggling routes will do us just fine.”
Hold together, she thought at the ship determinedly. You had better see us through. That would just be the foam on the butterbeer, she thought grimly. After all the mishaps and misfortunes of this voyage so far, a sinking ship was the last thing they needed. Hidden away in the winding magical route of the Smugglers’ Passage, help would never find them in time.
But that was only a hypothetical. Their other troubles were more pressing. A last-minute change of crew had been necessary when half the original one had been thrown in prison to cool their heels after an unfortunate altercation outside a pub. That, at least, could be chalked up to idiocy and firewhiskey. She hadn’t trusted her old hands anyway, but she knew what to expect from them. Still, it wasn’t a catastrophe; her new crew was capable, if unfamiliar.
Then they had been pursued on the way out of the country, by both agents of the French Ministry and by some unknown party. They had lost their pursuers when they entered the Smugglers’ Passage, but now they were behind schedule and crossing the Channel the long way to avoid official interference. And while the deal had happened, the client had refused to pay through the goblin banks, but had given them gold to carry back instead – which put them at risk of losing it.
And now this. They could not use any more magic to speed their way forward, for the serpents were drawn to it like a siren song. They were not being actively malicious so much as they were playful, but more magic might attract more unwanted guests. And they could not get rid of the ones they already had following them, because anything the sea serpents viewed as an attack would change their mostly harmless (if inconvenient) curiosity into a deadly threat.
Marlene stood on deck, watching the plumed serpent – the latest to find them. It bobbed up from the surface for only a moment, its lithe serpentine body flickering beneath the water. Muggle legends of sea monsters likely came from these, and others like them, she mused. The plumed serpent was a cousin to the horned serpent: smaller (though not small), and less intelligent than horned serpents were rumored to be. Certainly there were no stories of plumed serpents talking to anyone. They had no horn or jewel for wand crafting or potioneering. Shimmering scales covered their bodies, coming up to a dragon-like head. Fins trailed down the back of the neck, flanked by the feathery tendrils for which they were named. They were beautiful creatures. If only they weren’t so curious.
“Well, we’re certainly in a pixie’s nest of trouble,” the captain said to her. He was a tall man, tanned and lean like the rest of the sailors, and he looked out at the serpents with less consternation than Marlene and more of an air of tolerant bewilderment. Since the serpents had first shown up that morning, he had told her how surprising this was no less than three times. By this point, she was well aware that this had never happened to him before. That didn’t solve their problem. He seemed certain that they shouldn’t have been able to find their way into the Smugglers’ Passage. But clearly, somehow, they had.
Iridescent scales flashed in the sunlight as another surfaced for the briefest of moments before flicking its tail and diving once more. The wave caused by its undulations rocked the ship, and out of instinct, one of the sailors cast a stabilizing charm.
Marlene swore. As if on cue, three curious heads, each easily the size of one of the ship’s sails, popped up beside the railings. The ship slowed to a stop as the crew ceased even the smallest of their wind-workings, hoping the serpents would lose interest and move on. Enormous bright eyes fixed on the sailor who’d cast the spell, and he froze, staring back, face rapidly paling.
“Now what?” Marlene asked the captain.
His casual regard toward the situation was gone, fled the moment a member of his last-minute crew had been so careless. He was glowering impressively at the sailor who’d cast the spell, and Marlene thought he was almost more intimidating that the ship-sized sea serpent.
“We’re stalled again,” he said. “We’ll have to sail the muggle way until we lose these damn beasts. I know you had a schedule to keep, but you might as well forget it. We won’t make port tonight. Not unless they give up and leave us alone.”
Marlene looked back at the plumed serpents, nervous their curiosity would be the death-knell for this ship. It couldn’t take much more of their interested nudges without falling apart beneath her feet – not if they couldn’t use magic to keep it afloat. The serpents had lost interest in the sailor, since he had cast no more magic. One had ducked below the surface again, and the ship tipped a little as it nosed at the bottom where the waterproofing spells held firm. Another arched its neck up out of the water, unspooling its vast length as it eyed the sails, sticking its head into the canvas cloth like a cat investigating a new box. The sail billowed out around it, now head-shaped, and the serpent snorted and withdrew. The third –
Marlene stepped forward, motioning the crew to move away. One more serpent had begun to come on deck. Its head rested on the planks, eyes sleepy and half-lidded, and it looked ready to nap in the sun right there where it had settled. The waves that buffeted the ship hardly seemed to rock its sinuous form. A napping sea serpent would cause them far more than half a day’s delay. Marlene was meant to be back in England yesterday at noon, but the delays on shore had cost her time, and now this would take up precious more hours, even on a good wind with full use of their magic. If they drifted on the current to avoid disturbing the creature, they could end up even farther away from land.
“Artis,” the captain started, but Marlene cut him off.
“I have an idea,” she said. It was a crazy idea, but she thought it just might work. She took out her wand.
“Artis,” the captain snapped urgently. “If you irritate them, we’re all dead!”
“I’m not going to irritate them,” Marlene slowly moved a step closer. The head on deck lifted, just a little, and deep golden eyes fixed on her, watching warily.
She took another step. The ship rocked violently, and then a second serpent’s head popped up from underwater to hover beside their deck’s sleepy visitor.
Another step. The third and last serpent had extricated itself from the mast and sails, lowering its head down to the deck level again. Three heads all in a row observed the crew, golden eyes bright and watchful. Marlene was nearly close enough to touch them. They were feet away. From this distance, she could see that the scales weren’t just reflecting sunlight. They were luminescent, carrying within them their own deep sea-soaked light. If she stretched out her arm, she could run her hand along those softly-glowing scales, feel their smoothness. She was tempted.
Instead, she lifted her wand.
“Lumos.”
Instantly, the three heads jerked forward, eyes wide. She heard the deck railing crack and splinter under their weight. Behind her, the captain swore. She tuned it out, focusing only on her magic. She needed to get this exactly right.
“Nox.” As the light went out, three pairs of eyes jerked from her wand to her face. She could have sworn they looked disappointed.
“Lumos.” She said again. Immediately, the heads turned back.
“Nox.” This time, when the eyes turned to her, she raised her wand, deliberately showing it to them.
“Accio,” she called, and a piece of the railing flew to her. When she banished it, the serpents turned to watch it go. This might work after all.
Time for the real test. Marlene summoned the railing, then lifted it in the air. Moving it around, she watched the great golden eyes follow it, narrowing as they focused. Then she tossed it high in the air and hit it with the strongest banishing charm she could.
The wood flew out toward the horizon, flung by her magic. All three serpents immediately disengaged from the ship, bodies flattening out into lines as they rocketed through the water in hot pursuit. Their departure sent a massive wave over the ship as it rocked violently in their wake.
“Son of a jarvey,” the captain breathed, staring at her.
“Don’t get too excited yet,” Marlene told him, all her focus on the swiftly receding serpentine figures. When they had reached a considerable distance, she turned to him. “Now.”
“All hands!” the captain shouted. “Get us underway! We make for England!”
The ship began to move once more, swift and sure with the sails full of conjured wind. They had made it quite some distance when the ship tilted, then tilted again, as one serpent returned to persistently nudge the bottom of the hull. Marlene went to the side, and the head of the smallest serpent popped up, the railing falling from its massive jaws and onto the deck.
Its head tilted slightly to the side as it looked at her. Its focus was unnerving, a slit-eyed stare out of great golden orbs. Its head tipped back the other way, and Marlene could have sworn she saw its muscular coils wriggle as it backed up, ready to pounce – or chase. She stepped forward cautiously, in case she was misreading the situation, and picked up the railing. The serpent flicked its tail, backing up, and she could see now that it was much smaller than the others had been – perhaps an adolescent, just large enough to venture out into the open water?
She threw the railing high in the air once more, and banished it. The serpent chased after it.
“Looks like I’ve made a friend,” she commented to the dumbstruck crew, and waited out the rest of the voyage on deck, letting the wind catch her hair and breathing the fresh sea air. When she reached England, she would deal with her cargo, and her current employers. For now, it was a moment of respite from the deceptions and conspiracies, and she would enjoy it while she could.
Albus Dumbledore arrived at Alastor Moody’s doorstep just a few minutes after five. He gave the door three brisk knocks, prepared for the wand point that greeted him when it swung open.
“Hello, Alastor,” he greeted serenely, disregarding the implied threat. He stepped neatly around the wand, commenting idly as if on the weather: “By the way, the last time I saw you, I was wearing the most splendid orange and purple hat.”
The wand lowered, and the scowling face behind it met his gaze fearlessly. “That hat was an absolute atrocity, Albus, and you know it.”
“Beauty, Alastor, is in the eye of the beholder,” he replied. “But a discussion of my sartorial choices, riveting though that may be, would no doubt draw us far beyond the intent of our dinner conversation today. Alas, it must wait for another time.”
Moody grunted, rather than give him a reply. Albus carefully kept his grin from showing on his face. Their friendship was long and storied, but Albus never failed to find delight in a little gentle teasing of his cynical and taciturn friend. And it lightened the mood, which was always welcome in these dark times. Especially, Albus thought, when one was meeting a new acquaintance.
He had to admit, if only to himself, that he was a little apprehensive of this meeting today. He hoped, rather beyond any reasonable expectation, that he might find an ally against the darkness that threatened their world. And yet, that may not be the case. There was still quite an aura of mystery around young Mr. Neville – no, Mr. Ignotus, now.
Besides that, he was meeting a young man, hardly older than a boy– younger than any of the recent Hogwarts graduates that he had admitted into the Order, who still seemed sometimes children to his old and tired eyes. He would have kept them out of this, if he could have – let them have their innocence a little longer. But war had not allowed them such luxuries, and as the world grew darker, age or youth did not shelter anyone from the growing storm.
Wiping off his boots on Moody’s mat – a battered old thing that wished him an incongruously cheerful ‘Welcome!’ – Albus entered the house.
“You’re late,” Moody muttered as he checked both ways out of the door before closing it and bolting it tightly shut. Albus knew only half the irritation was real, and the other half was simply to find something to be irritated at.
“A wizard is never late, Alastor,” he said chidingly, and was rewarded with a long-suffering sigh.
The young man in question appeared behind Alastor’s frame as Albus moved through the doorway into the living room. Two sagging but serviceable couches sat around a small coffee table – one had clearly just been vacated, an indent in the couch and a half-drunk tea mug attesting to its prior occupancy. “And you must be Harry,” he said, holding out a hand.
“Nice to meet you, sir,” Harry said, reaching his own hand out to give Albus a firm handshake. He looked simultaneously younger and older than Albus had expected. His frame still had the lean limberness of youth, but Albus saw a deep sorrow in the young man’s green eyes. His hair was black and messy, and reminded Albus fleetingly of young James Potter, if James bore the scars of seeing the worst parts of human nature. Harry’s face still held the freshness of youth and his gaze was clear, but his posture was heavy with a bone-deep weariness.
“And the same to you,” Albus said. “I must say, it is my pleasure to meet you at last. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
“Everyone has,” Harry said wryly, but not without humor. Albus was impressed by his seemingly nonchalant - if slightly resigned - acceptance of his newfound celebrity status and the attention that must have come with it. Harry turned and headed toward the small kitchen that was attached to the living room. Albus could see his shoulders, tense though they were, slump with weariness. He was clearly still recovering from the toll of the last few weeks. From the reports he’d heard, Albus was unsurprised. He was rather more surprised that Harry was walking around with any energy at all.
Harry took a seat at one of the rickety chairs set around Moody’s small kitchen table. It was small, but cozy, with pots and pans hung along the walls and a tantalizing smell rising in the air. A small window above the sink let in some of the fast-fading sunlight. Albus moved to join him at the table. Moody waved his wand at the oven and it creaked open, three plates that had been set in there to warm flying out to their places at the table. Potatoes heaped generously with gravy adorned each plate, with sausages and vegetables on the side. Then he came to join them.
While they ate, their conversation meandered. They talked briefly about the unusually hot streak in the weather, then about Harry’s work at the bookstore. When their meal was done, Moody banished their plates to the sink and gave Albus a pointed look.
“Harry’s agreed, Albus,” he said apropos of nothing. “He’ll join the Order. Let’s get on with it.”
“Alastor – or, forgive me, Auror Moody? – told me he intended to make that offer,” Albus said, peering over his spectacles.
Moody snorted. “He calls me Moody, like everyone else I know except for you.
“I believe you are sincere,” Albus said gently, “but - and forgive me an old man’s qualms, “are you certain? You may already be a target because of your actions, and this will only put you in more danger. And the Order is not a Ministry-sanctioned organization.”
“It’s a vigilante group,” Moody said bluntly, “which he knows already.”
“I’m sure,” Harry said over top of Moody, ignoring him with what Albus thought was a certain amount of reckless inattention to Moody’s unimpressed glare. “I know the risks, and I know what you’re trying to do. I want to join.”
“Very well,” Albus said. His heart was heavy at the thought of bringing someone barely out of childhood, who’d already seen more than anyone his age should’ve, deeper into this fight. But he couldn’t deny that it always had a burst of hope from the determination and the bright spark that he could see in the young man in front of him. “For now, Alastor can start bringing you to meetings, and we’ll introduce you to the Order. We shall see how things go from there. But onto happier business. That isn’t the only reason why I came here today.”
“Sir?” Harry’s look of confusion only deepened as Albus pulled out a packet of papers from his cloak and pushed it across the table to him.
“Alastor told me something of your… unusual situation,” he said delicately, treading lightly around the issue of Harry’s past. “That you have no identification, other than your newest papers, no schooling records, no OWLs or NEWts?”
“Er – yes.” Harry turned the paper over in his hands and unfolded it, his confusion turning to shock. Something yearning passed over his face, replaced a second later with something unreadable and conflicted
“Then, assuming that you can pass the prerequisite OWLs at the Ministry at a time convenient to you, I would like to invite you to attend NEWT preparation courses at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this coming year. You would be most welcome.”
Harry stared down at the letter in his hands. In a clear, strong hand, it read,
Dear Mr. Ignotus,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, provisional upon your OWL scores. A list of books and equipment will be forwarded to you upon your course finalization.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
He fought to keep his hands from shaking. A lump had formed in his chest that no amount of swallowing could dislodge. To his horror, he could feel tears burning at the back of his eyes, and he fought to blink them away. He could go home. That was what Hogwarts had always been to him. His first and best home.
And yet, now when he thought of those beloved halls he saw the rows of the dead, lined up side by side in the Great Hall. The crumbled stonework, and the hours of rebuilding. The bodies - Colin, Lavender, Remus and Tonks - Fred. Sometimes at night he still heard Professor McGonagall’s scream, when he had been carried into the courtyard. Could he go back, with those memories waiting behind his eyes, overshadowing his happy memories?
Unbidden, the image rose to him – Ginny, sitting by the lake, sunlight glinting off her brightly shining hair. Ron and Hermione, bickering in the hall as they walked to classes; Fred and George, together as they should always have been, cackling madly as they flew away on their reclaimed brooms and Umbridge stood, impotent and raging, on the grounds below as fireworks beset the school.
They should have been happy memories – and they were – but now they were tinged with the bitterness of knowing he could never return. Hogwarts without Ron and Hermione wouldn’t feel the same. Even in the battle – even after, when they’d gone back to help try and pick up the pieces of what remained – they had been together. They’d had each other. Now, his best friends forever beyond his reach, he didn’t know if he could stand to walk the halls of Hogwarts alone.
Moody must have guessed something of his thoughts because he stood and said gruffly, “Got something to show you out back. Let the lad think on it.” Dumbledore rose as well, a look of concern on his face as he glanced back at Harry. Clearly he hadn’t expected such a reaction – and how could he have, Harry thought, when to him, they were meeting today for the first time as strangers?
Dumbledore, thankfully, made no comment, but allowed Harry what privacy he could, and the courtesy of pretending his reaction was nothing out of the ordinary. “You have piqued my curiosity,” he said to Moody, and nodded toward the door. “Lead the way.”
Harry breathed, shutting his eyes firmly against the world, and swallowed hard. Another breath, and he’d begun to collect himself, letting the memories fade again, no longer so sharp and clear and piercing. When he felt his composure begin to return, he looked down once more at the letter.
Dear Mr. Potter, he could almost see it saying, and remembered holding his letter in his hands. Eleven years old, and he didn’t even know magic was real. He’d never met Ron and Hermione, couldn’t have imagined such a place as Hogwarts, and yet – he had held a chance of escaping the Dursleys and stepping into a world of wonders. And now, this invitation felt like it carried the same weight, the same momentous occasion.
I’m not fit to be in a classroom of children, he thought disparagingly, and knew it to be true. He was only a year older than the seventh years, probably only half a year older than some, but the distance wasn’t in age, but in experience. After everything he had seen and done, sitting in a classroom, walking the halls as a student, listening to lectures and taking notes – it seemed a whole world away. But he wanted it, more than he’d wanted anything since he’d found himself in the past, other than a way home.
He stared at the letter in his hands, turning it over and over, thinking. He was lost in a reverie, and startled when he heard Moody and Dumbledore come back in. He looked up at their entrance.
“Term doesn’t start for some weeks yet, Mr. Ignotus,” Dumbledore said before he had the chance to speak. “If you wish to take some time to think on it, and I hope that you will, I do not need an answer now. But I do hope to see you at Hogwarts this year. I believe it would be an extraordinary experience.”
“It would be,” Harry said, knowing that with every fiber of his being. I could go home. And still he hesitated – long enough that Dumbledore spoke again.
“I understand as well that you are in a very different situation than most of my students find themselves,” he said, “and you might need suitable accommodations. If there is anything I can do to make this easier for you, please let me know. The wizarding world owes you a great debt, Mr. Ignotus, for your actions – not only because of the lives you saved, though the weight of a life is no light thing, and its value beyond price – but also because of the hope that you have given people, even a tired old Headmaster. If it is in my power to help you, if you wish to attend Hogwarts, I will do everything I can to make it so.”
“Thank you,” Harry said, then added, “It’s only that I think I might be rather out of place, sitting in a classroom after all this time of -” he hesitated, “er – not being in school. And I don’t know that I want to go to school year round, or leave my job, or how well I would handle all that if I did. But I do think I would like to get my NEWTs.”
And as he said it, Harry realized it was true. He’d never cared much about school, always more worried about other things. It was Hermione’s urging that had propelled him through most of his exams unscathed. But now, he did want to finish what he’d started, even if he didn’t know if he could bear to be a student at Hogwarts again.
“We can try and work something out, if it will work better for you. Tutoring perhaps, or independent studies – but I am getting ahead of myself. One thing at a time. If you wish, we can set up your OWLs and talk more on this another time?”
Harry nodded, and Dumbledore looked at him - and for a moment, this strangely young Dumbledore was overshadowed with the image of the one he had known so well and not at all, the old Headmaster with his wisdom and his gentle regard and his bright and twinkling eyes. The moment passed, and Harry found himself staring at a familiar stranger, holding out a friendly hand.
Harry took it.
“I’m sure you have much to think on,” Dumbledore said. “The next Order meeting is in two days – Alastor can bring you. I hear you still need an Apparition License. We wouldn’t want to do anything the Ministry disapproves of, after all.” Harry snorted, and Dumbledore winked broadly, giving him a warm smile. “Well then, I’m off!” he said brightly, looking as though he’d stopped in for nothing more serious than a social call after a daytime stroll. “It was wonderful to meet you, young Harry - I will look forward to your owl.”
“Thank you, sir,” Harry said.
Moody got up as well. “I’ll see you out,” he said. They both rose and walked away, out the front door. They spoke for a moment, low voices beyond Harry’s hearing. A sharp crack rang out – disapparation, Harry knew. Then Dumbledore was gone. One short meeting, and he had set Harry adrift from the firm ground he’d only just started to find. What did he want to do now? Dumbledore’s visit had shaken him more than he had expected. He sat for a long time at Moody’s kitchen table, clutching the letter in his hands like a lifeline, left unmoored and untethered in his wake.