Dark Days: Chapter 35 (Patreon)

A/N: Writer's block has been kicking my ass, hence some very uneven updates. Hopefully I'm through the worst of it now.

This story is about to enter its final stretch. I can't give an exact number for how many chapters are left. More than 5, less than 10.

Chapter 35

Became This Way

It was the biggest grave they’d dug yet, wide enough to fit a complete casket. Neville was the one who lowered the handsome mahogany box. He moved his wand downward without a tremor in his wrist, levitating the casket as tears crawled down his cheeks.

All of them were there— Harry, Fleur, Fang, Daphne, Ginny, Dobby, Narcissa, and Susan. Harry avoided looking at the sobbing girl at the end of their black-dressed line. Sparse drops of rain struck their heads and made dots on the dirt beneath their feet. The casket came to rest at the bottom of the fresh grave. Neville lowered his wand and grabbed a shovel, piling dirt on top of it.

Harry stepped forward, saying nothing, and took a second shovel in his hands. The two men filled the hole in without a word, just the sound of their shovels working— shkkk into the dirt pile, pffff as the dirt dropped into the hole. Harry felt… something.

Hannah Abbott was a woman he’d come to appreciate too late. Just days ago, his opinion of her soared as she swore to take on danger for their cause. Why hadn’t he told her at the time? He’d assumed compliments coming from him would mean nothing. Maybe that was true, but he should have said it. She should’ve known.

It was an ambush. A safe house was attacked while Hannah was visiting. She at least died quickly, likely because she fought back to the best of her ability, buying time for others to escape. She died for the cause that Harry brought to her doorstep. In a way, she’d died for him. Harry felt like his stomach was a pool, disturbed by falling rocks. This was the second time someone had died for him.

When Harry turned around from the filled-in hole, his collar was snatched.

Susan had lunged forward. Her eyes were redder than her hair. She yanked the neck of his robes, jolting Harry’s head.

“Bring her back! Undo this!” 

“...I can’t,” Harry said.

Susan pounded the bottom of her first into Harry’s chest, like she was beating on a door. “You… It should’ve been you! Or… me… Anyone but her!”

Harry didn’t stop Susan. Neville did. He pulled her back, firm enough she couldn’t break away from him but being harsh. 

“We knew this could happen. I knew it, Harry knew it, Hannah knew it. She took the risk, Susan. She did that herself.”

“I…” Susan stopped short of saying, I know. A heavy sob lurched from her throat. “It’s not fair! It’s never ever ever fair!”

“Then blame me.” Harry’s voice started quiet. “Hannah chose this… So what? I could have stopped her. I had the power to keep this from happening, but I didn’t. It’s my fault your friend died. It’s my fault your Aunt died. Blame me for it; hate me. I’m the one who killed them.”

Susan didn’t explode at him. She looked horrified. Harry couldn’t understand why, until he noticed his cheeks were wet. At some point, as he spoke, tears started falling.

Harry blinked, hard. He wasn’t supposed to cry. Crying was dangerous. It was a reaction he thought he’d purged himself of at a young age, yet it always cropped up at the worst times. Tears kept falling. Harry averted his eyes.

“Look at me.” 

For once, Susan sounded commanding. Harry did it. Turning aside wasn’t hiding anything anyway.

“You feel guilt. I thought, sometimes… But I could never tell,” Susan said. She was still crying, like Harry, but it didn’t stop her from speaking coherently. “You’re his student. You shouldn’t think about any of the things you do. How are you like this? What made you like this?”

“I—” Harry said.

He hesitated. And in that small gap, Narcissa interjected.

“As dramatic as all of this is,” she had a sour look on her face, “we aren’t in a position to be dallying. This house is no longer equipped for our needs.”

“Crouch is going to come for us,” Daphne said. “If he got into my manor, he could attack us here. Yaxley could send the Aurors after us any day, Narcissa and I can’t stall any longer. We need to disappear.”

Harry took a deep breath. Finally, his tears stopped. It helped having something to focus on. “Where are we supposed to hide? They know our safe houses. Even Rookwood couldn’t hide for long.”

“You be needing a hiding place?” Dobby asked. “I knows a place. Very secret. No Death Eater can find it.”

“How could that be?” Harry asked. “You’re my elf, Dobby. You belonged to the Malfoy family before me. You’ve never worked anywhere else. Where would you have heard about something like that?”

“Master Harry Potter gives me lots of time without work,” Dobby said. “Dobby talks to other elves. Sometimes, Dobby visits Hogwarts. They told Dobby about all the secrets, even ones the teachers don’t be knowing. There’s a hidden room that can be anything you want!”

“Hogwarts? Your plan is for us to hide in Hogwarts?” Daphne asked.

“It could work,” Harry mused. “Hogwarts has secrets, some of them deep ones. The Dark Lord found Salazar’s chamber and reaped its benefits. A room only the elves know doesn’t sound far fetched.”

“Hogwarts is where we took our last stand,” Fleur said. “Its defenses are some of the best in Britain.”

“True. We could seize the school, if hiding fails,” Narcissa said. “There are lots of assets on hand.”

“By assets, you mean children,” Ginny said.

Narcissa rolled her eyes. “Call them their proper name— hostages.”

“We’ll try it,” Harry decided. “Dobby’s idea first. We’ll see if this room is an option for us to hide. If not… We’ll find another plan.”

“When would we leave?” Fleur asked.

Harry looked over the impromptu graveyard that had formed behind his house, filled with far too many graves, the freshest one included. He looked past them all to the husk of Godric’s Hollow. No wizards in dark or red robes Apparated to the edge of the wards, but it wouldn’t have surprised him to see them swarming like ants.

“As soon as we can,” Harry said.

It took less than an hour to collect everything they needed. For Harry, much of that time was spent on sentimentality. He owned close to nothing, choosing to stand in the doorway of Fleur’s room while the others collected what they needed.

When his lover had her things, Fleur approached him, pecking him on the lips.

“You must tell me, soon, about yourself and Hermione,” she said.

“Not just you.” Harry was still looking at the room. “Susan needs to know. The others can hear the story, if they want. I think that I owe it to them.”

“Then tell us. Tonight.”

“If the situation allows… I will.”

Fleur didn’t ask for more, knowing as well as Harry did that they were stepping into uncertain times— even more uncertain than the last days had been.

Neville and Narcissa were waiting downstairs. Susan helped Ginny down the stairs soon after. Daphne took the longest, bringing the most extensive collection along with her.

“Ready?” Daphne asked.

“If you finally are,” Ginny said.

“It’s not my fault that some of us have things of value!” Daphne said.

Their bickering was a welcome sound. It was familiar, and preferable to silence. As the group stepped outside, Harry brought up the rear. He paused when he’d climbed off the front porch.

Looking at his house made something stir in his heart. It had been the venue for a few good times and a lot of dull ones. A couple tragic ones, too. Recently, it had started to feel alive, and now he was bidding it all goodbye.

Harry made a lame, limp wave before turning his back.

Everyone in the group could Apparate, although Ginny didn’t dare risk it in her current state. Neville side-longed her for the trip while Dobby brought Fang. They chose to arrive outside of Hogsmeade to avoid being sighted. It was, frankly, a ghost town. Hogsmeade had been gifted to Bellatrix the way that Harry controlled Godric’s Hollow. Half the shops were closed and the shutters of every home were drawn shut, making it impossible to tell if anyone was inside.

Dobby guided them to the most roughed-up business. This one didn’t have windows left to shutter; they’d been smashed open, leaving jagged glass edges. Slurs and vulgarities were painted in red across the front of the building, many of the insults goat-themed. When they forced the door open, the inside was just as much of a mess.

“This was the Hog’s Head,” Ginny said. “Students avoided it. It was a rough place, especially compared to the Three Broomsticks. Never like this, though.” Her arm was looped over Neville’s shoulders, giving her enough stability to hop on her good ankle and kick away an overturned cup. “Dumbledore’ brother owned it. I guess that’s why it’s like this.”

“Aberforth. I watched him die,” Fleur said.

The somber mood didn’t lighten after that reminder.

Dobby pressed his nobby fingers against a rough fireplace. After a couple prods from the elf, a passage opened leading beyond. Dark and clearly long, the group started their trip.

Ginny could be heard hissing and cursing quietly. It irked her to seem weak, but her left ankle was likely to never work again, at least not to the extent it was intended to. Traveling this far, even with aid, was surely sending needles up her legs. Eventually, Harry levitated her.

“I can walk!” Ginny squawked.

“Not quietly, apparently,” Daphne said. “Shut up and let him levitate you, it’s awful enough walking this far without you giving me a headache.”

By Daphne’s standards toward Ginny, that was practically polite. The translation was roughly, You can’t walk, so just accept it. Interestingly, Ginny did just that.

The tunnel was long, chilly, and slightly wet. According to Dobby, speaking on behalf of the Hogwarts elves, it ran from Hogsmeade all the way into Hogwarts itself. Even Harry knew that was a sizable walk, despite never having attended the wizarding institution. It took thirty minutes before they spotted a prick of light.

Harry gestured the others back and approached the light first. He used what seemed to be a peephole, trying to gauge what was on the other side, only for the solid wall to immediately give way. Harry pitched forward, nearly caught himself, but ultimately landed on his stomach, jarring the partially-healed aches he’d accrued against Amycus Carrow. When something moved in front of him, Harry ignored the pains rolled onto one knee. He rapidly leveled his wand with— A dog. 

A shaggy dog, large enough that with Harry kneeling they were roughly equivalent in height. Its fur was matted in places and it had a curly fringe partially blocking its eyes. The dog stared directly at Harry. When Harry stood the rest of the way up, its eyes rose to track him. Beyond that it refused to move.

Harry’s eyes covered the rest of the room. It was… lived in. There was a pile of newspapers where the dog had obviously been sleeping. A table had cans of food on it, eaten but not cleaned out. There were beans, spam, and other human food mixed with cans for dogs. A shelf held unopened cans. On one wall was a dartboard while, at the opposite side of the room stood inert wooden dummies designed for practicing dueling, complete with spell damage. This last detail stuck out to Harry, but he still called for the others. “Come through. It’s safe.”

Harry turned his head to watch the others enter. Fang was the last to enter. The large boarhound bounced forward to greet the other dog. Except, by the time Fang got close, there was no other dog.

“Fang, you big old beast! You’re alive!”

Fang tackled a man with hair even scruffier than the dog’s fur had been. He was probably handsome, beneath it all, but his whiskers were overdue a shave, and his hair almost reached the tip of his nose. He was wearing Auror robes that looked like they hadn’t been changed in a long time. He giddily met Fang’s charge, letting Hagrid’s old dog tackle him to the floor. Laughing and scrubbing the dog, the man worked his way back to his feet, very belatedly discovering the wand aimed between his eyes.

“Why should I not put a hole in your head?” Harry said.

“I’m a really good singer,” the man said, without missing a beat. “I’ll treat you to my favorite. “Once upon a time, not so long ago, Tommy used to work on the docks~”

Every note was off key. The man was a liar. He wasn’t a blood supremacist, though. The song was a Muggle one.

“Sirius Black, is that you? Mon dieu you’re alive!” Fleur said.

The scruffy man stood up fully, finally looking at who was else in the room. Prior, he’d only had eyes for Harry and Fang. “You’re the Beauxbatons girl from the Order, aren’t you? Fleur, wasn’t it?” The man assessed the others, getting more excited as he went. “And you’re Arthur and Molly’s youngest! And you’re Frank n’ Alice’s son! And—!”

Sirius stopped when he reached Narcissa. “Cousin,” she said.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Sirius asked.

“I wouldn’t say you’re the one who should be demanding answers,” Harry interrupted. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

Sirius focused on Harry again. Right away, he got lost in staring. “You have her eyes.”

“I think this one’s a bit insane,” Daphne said.

“Just stupid. He’s always been that way,” Narcissa said.

Harry ignored them. He was getting a strange feeling; something about the way Sirius was looking at him put him off. He wasn’t used to it. It was uncomfortable.

“Sirius Black. Member of the Order of the Phoenix. Former Auror. Favors borderline dark spells when dueling,” Harry said.

“You know me!” Sirius said.

“I know what they told me so I’d know how to kill you. You were a priority target during the war. You’re alive… and you haven’t answered my questions.”

Finally, Sirius seemed to become more lucid. He turned his back on Harry, stumbling to the table, and started collecting empty cans, stacking them in an attempt to clean up.

“What can I say… I ran away.” Sirius laughed. It didn’t sound happy. “Dumbledore told me to, so I did it. Nobody noticed a dog running from the fight. He told me someone had to get out, and I sure did that! I’ve been hiding here since…” Sirius looked vacant. “How long ago was the battle?”

“Nine months,” Fleur said gently.

“Right.” Sirius chuckled. He grabbed the hem of his robes and furiously rubbed part of the table, trying to scrap away a dried grease spot. “Sorry, it’s hard to keep track of time when you’re locked up or running around on all-fours. Anyway, I’ve been here ever since!” He gave another humorless laugh, moving the tower of cans he’d made into the furthest corner. “This room is great! It makes anything you want appear, just by thinking about it! Honestly, I’m living like a king.”

Behind him, the tower of cans tilted over, hitting the ground with a loud crash. Sirius cursed. He dropped on his knees and collected them again. Harry just watched, his brow furrowed.

“Anyway, we’ve been trying to get you to visit Hogwarts for ages!” Sirius said. “And it finally worked!”

“You’ve been trying to bring me here? Trying how?” Harry demanded.

Sirius blinked. “Let’s see if I can think of them all… We sent you an invitation to Hogwarts’s grand reopening. I really thought that one would work, too, but you blew it off. Then, when everyone came for Snape’s big funeral, I managed to replace your invitation. That would’ve brought you here a few days early, I could’ve gotten to you alone, but you showed up on the right day. All I could do was watch.”

Harry remembered seeing Sirius in the distance back then. Of course, at the time, he hadn’t had a name to go with the figure he’d spotted. The interaction faded from his mind soon after.

“Nothing lured us here. My elf recommended this room as a place to hide,” Harry said. “It seems the recommendation was apt, seeing someone beat us to it.”

Sirius blinked at him. Suddenly, he laughed. “So after all the things we tried, it was just luck in the end! Hah! Well, I guess he wouldn’t call it that. He’d use a prettier word, like fate.”

“You keep saying that— we, or he,” Harry said. “Who are you referring to? Are you not alone here?”

“I’ll show you,” Sirius said.

O-O-O

Minutes later, Harry was moving through the halls of Hogwarts for the first time in his life, traveling in the wake of a ragged man who seemed a little too enthusiastic about Harry himself. If it were just up to Harry’s discretion, he wouldn’t have trusted Sirius to guide him anywhere. Neville, Ginny, and most of all Fleur spoke highly of his character, though. Narcissa called him a harebrained mutt. Sirius called her a vapid trophy wife in return. Before the cousins could get into a fight, Harry went with the majority opinion and chose to trust him.

Sirius held up his hand. They stopped in unison, pressing themselves against a suit of armor’s nook. Footsteps passed by. Sirius studied a map in his hands, eventually gesturing to keep going. Twice, they’d taken hidden passageways that served as shortcuts.

“I wouldn’t expect you to need a map here,” Harry said.

“It’s not just a map. Look!”

Sirius was giddy as he thrust the parchment toward Harry. On it, circles moved throughout Hogwarts, marked by names. Harry spotted the allies they’d left in Sirius’ hiding place— the proper name of which, they’d learned, was the Room of Requirement. 

The circles were moving, giving an indication of where everyone was across the whole castle.

“Useful,” Harry remarked.

“Ingenius, more like! This is the Marauders map.” Sirius wasn’t trying to keep his voice down, although in his defense, the map proved no one was close enough to overhear. “That’s what we called ourselves! There was me, Remus, the rat Pettigrew — we didn’t know what he really was yet — and… your dad.”

Harry flinched.

“Those were the days.” Sirius was walking again, but still talking. “We were the root of all mischief in Hogwarts. James got the girl, I got lots of girls, Remus looked like he was going to land a solid job— things were looking good. ‘Course it all fell apart.”

“I’m hardly my father’s son,” Harry said.

“Your looks sure say differently. You’re halfway between the two of them, with James’ hair and Lils’ eyes. You turned out like we imagined their kid turning out!”

“Stop.” Harry felt a headache coming on. “Just… lead me to this mysterious ally of yours.”

Sirius proved that he wasn’t completely stricken of all his social skills by dropping the conversation. They stopped in front of a room that, when Harry read the Marauders’ Map over Sirius' shoulder, was labeled ‘Headmaster’s Office’. 

“It could’ve been trouble, having to sneak in here, but luckily the new headmaster is a bum,” Sirius said. “After Voldie killed Snape, they tossed the mantle Sebastian Nott. He shows up for the Welcoming Feast and the Halloween banquet and spends the rest of the time drinking in his manor. It helps that Hogwarts has a lot less going on these days. They got rid of Gryffindor entirely. There’s only a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, too, since they’re barely letting in half-bloods these days. The password is Blood Oath.”

The gargoyle they were standing in front of sprung aside seamlessly. “C’mon.” Sirius gestured Harry up the stairs after him. Harry followed him, thinking idly that this would be a supremely good setting for an ambush.

The observation remained a mere thought experiment. All that awaited them inside the office were shelves of magical trinkets and a great many portraits. Harry’s eyes were naturally drawn to the one directly behind the room’s desk. The flowing beard, the tall hat with insignias of moons stitched onto it, that elderly-yet-broad body— there was no mistaking the late Albus Dumbledore, even in the form of a portrait.

“They made sure to put it up when he died,” Sirius said. “They wanted him to see everything he fought for crumble, the twisted bastards. They say that the day Hogwarts stopped accepting Muggleborns, he stopped moving and never spoke again, he was so crushed by the fate of his school.”

The portrait’s lips twitched.

“They do say that, don’t they?”

Inside his frame, Dumbledore shifted, leaning forward as if to get a better look at Harry. He clearly wasn’t stupid with grief. There was even mirth in his expression.

“A portrait, freezing itself?” Dumbledore said. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.” He put his hand beside his lips, giving the impression of confidentiality. “The purebloods have never heard of it, either, but it makes such a nice story that they’ve chosen to believe it. Arrogance can make men blinder than losing their glasses.”

“As you can see, he’s still full of wisdom. Or things that sound wise, at any rate,” Sirius said.

Harry’s legs carried him forward. Dumbledore smiled as he approached. They’d never met, yet the portrait was so happy to see him.

“Why?” Harry asked. “Why did you tell Sirius to run and hide? Why do you pretend you can’t talk? Why were you trying to meet me? What’s the point of it all?”

“I can answer all those questions in one swoop!” Dumbledore said. “The point of of this is to meet with you, hence my act and the reason that Sirius had to survive. I need to talk to you because you matter, Harry, more than the rest of us ever did. Why?” Dumbledore chuckled, reading what Harry was going to say before he opened his mouth. “It all starts with a seer, a pub, and an old man who wasn’t quite as clever as he thought…”