A Parliment of Owls.
31st October 1981
Godric's Hollow, Exmoor.
Fortune found herself standing outside the most unique looking building in the village, a converted bungalow with a tower of wood nestled in its centre three stories tall, a sturdy oak door painted in vibrant red marking its entrance.
Disconcertingly some of the occupants were looking into the street directly at her in puzzlement, she wasn’t sure if this meant they could see her, the thought that they could was mildly troubling. Maybe they could, it was Shamhain, the day the veil between the realms of the living, the departed and the divine was at its thinnest, the reason she had to act tonight before the opportunity was lost.
She strode through the closed door, this was the second building she would be breaking into tonight, and she felt the wards inspect her. A poltergeist ward that usually prevented the spirits tampering with mail studied her with some degree of bafflement. She was almost a spirit so the inspection didn’t surprise her but she was also a slither of divinity and warders just don’t account for that sort of thing, even the masters. It felt her intentions were evident, she planned mischief, possibly even a complete debacle, but had been granted permission to pass by Lady Magic herself. Fortune liked to think of it as significant upheaval but came away from the encounter glad that magic had approved of her deviation from the agreed plan.
She entered the tower hoping it contained what she was searching for, pairs of glowing eyes watching from two dozen crevices inlaid into the walls. Coming to the first box she stared at the occupant then tilting her head and craning her neck in a variety of awkward poses tried to peek under it without success “Move! Bloody owls!”.
The owl looked at her indignantly, ruffled its feathers and hooted a retort. ‘Hoot, hoot, hoooo’.
It was hard not to think they really could see her now so decided it was best to ask for their help rather than continue making them agitated “Are any of you sitting on a clutch? I have a task from magic you could help with.”
The loud bark of an owl came from one story up ‘Berk!’ and Fortune climbed the stairs towards its source. Upon reaching the landing at the top of the stairs, she twisted her neck to look around, responding to another bark from behind and approaching the alcove it came from.
Not being used to conversation with animals even if they were slightly magical in nature, Fortune started with an ice breaker,‘Would you believe this is the first time I’ve talked to an owl?’. Only to be met with a hoarse shriek as the owl tilted its head back towards the roof of its nook.
She stared at the owl, lifting an eyebrow giving it the eye while shrugging her shoulders. “Okay, not a fan of small talk.” In many ways she liked its confidence and candour thinking it boded well if it carried to the offspring, “A boy being watched by Magic herselfs parents were killed by Voldemort tonight in the village. While we had a plan to protect the boy over the coming years it's already gone wrong.” The owl tilted its head in response considering what it had just been told so Fortune just continued on “If I could use my influence on one of your eggs it might save the boy's life. If you do choose to help however it will come at a cost, to alter the soul of the egg I'll have to make use of those in the rest of the clutch and they will wither.”
The owl tiled its head further to the side, its eyes darting about lost in thought as it considered the proposition.
Fortune had started to get impatient around forty seconds into the wait but kept her gaze fixed on the owl. Thirty seconds later just as she was beginning to lose hope the owl straightened up, stared her in the eyes for two seconds, nodded and hopped a half step over to the side exposing five cream coloured eggs.
“Thank you!” Fortune gave a nod back.
Fortune took another half step towards the alcove and raised her hand over the clutch feeling outwards sensing at the weave for traces of luck before making a decision. Picking up one of the eggs she placed it into her left hand then began to pluck at one of the strands of the tapestry that holds the universe together with her right.
With each pluck there were consequences, the delicate balance of the cosmos in danger of unravelling, the effect of each alteration causing ripples of uncertainty to expand from its source.
Fortune looked over her work so far, the weave of the tapestry, smiling as she noticed the day of its creation, the thinness of the veil strengthened the endowment the souls imparted. She took the final strand, seamlessly attaching it to another before looking up back towards the owl. “This is our Rubicon.” Placing the egg back into the nest the two look on, witnesses as it begins to faintly shake.
1st November
Hogwarts Castle, Cairngorm National Park
Sat in an ornate mahogany chair with a hand resting on his chin while staring at a series of instruments usually hidden in the corner of his room but now proudly on display in the centre of his office Albus Dumbledore was feeling restless. He pulled his pocket watch out of his robe and checked it for the hundredth time tonight, it had just gone four in the morning, less than two minutes since the last time he looked at it, the idea of sleep a distant memory.
Hagrid was taking much longer to get back to Hogwarts than he expected. He watched the tool that told him Harry was alive, whirring with trepidation should anything untoward happen to them. Albus Dumbledore was considered by many to be the most capable wizard alive and yet as he waited he felt utterly powerless.
He’d expected an attack on the Potter’s, in many ways he’d hoped for it despite his best attempts to prevent it. To his shame after hearing a prophecy two years previously a part of him saw it as salvation after a decade containing nothing but bad news.
When he heard the monitors he’d placed on the Potter’s house begin to go off jogging his memory of the house he knew Lily was dead as she’d cast the Fidelius charm over the property that had prevented them working.
He’d moved quickly, much more spritely than you would expect for a man who had just entered his tenth decade to the back of his office to read the trackers, tracers and checkers he’d placed on the family before they had gone into hiding fearing for their own safety.
Studying the instruments had left Dumbledore confused; he had thought if Voldemort had attacked Harry would die, that the child's sacrifice would kill Voldemort along with him. Yet, the instrument that told him Harry was alive was still giving off steam after the two beside it went silent. He had watched as the column of steam began to stutter in fits and bursts instead of exiting the vessel as a constant stream before sending a message to Hagrid to check on the child, take him if he was still there. He dragged the instruments across the room and began sending a half dozen other messages to more important players in an attempt to gather information.
Five minutes later a spectral white Alsatian dog had leapt into the room before talking in a gruff Scottish man's voice “Lily and James are dead, witnesses say it was Voldemort himself. The entire house has blown up, bits of it across the street. Didn’t see Voldemort come out after it. We went in and couldn't make head nor tail of it. We think he’s dead, no body left and he definitely cast two killing curses in the room, had his magical signature all over it. The only two witnesses who didn’t run said Sirius and Hagrid turned up, had an argument before Sirius ran off and Hagrid took Harry. Not sure I believe that, can’t see how he’d survive the blast. Best get down here, have a look for yourself.”
The ward in the hallway tripped as it told him who was approaching. “Come in Hagrid”.
Hagrid opened the door and stormed into the room. Ablus looked up from the instruments, noticing the bundle he was carrying with one arm protectively against his chest, “Hagrid, what kept you?”.
“I ‘ad ter change the route and take a detour ‘roun Glasgow after we nearly got hit by fireworks comin’ o’er Liverpool.” he almost bellowed obviously having got close enough they had affected his hearing, Harry almost stirring at the noise before Dumbledore waved his wand to rectify it.
“The route Hagrid? How did you get back? It took you less than five minutes to get there but hours to come back”
Hagrid quieter than before but still louder than the average person replied quickly “Sirius lent me thon bike he has, din want ter put ‘em thru’ usin’ a portkey, even I don’ like those.”
Dumbledore wondered at that, stroking his beard again in thought about Sirius actions for a fraction of a second before asking him to put Harry down on a thin baby mattress he conjured from air on his desk.
Dumbledore saw the ragged lightning bolt shaped scar on the child's forehead and began casting every diagnostic spell he could think off, occasionally books would fly off library shelves towards him opening as they travelled before he peered into them and cast another spell. That he could do this while simultaneously grilling Hagrid for every detail of what he’d found was undoubtedly impressive.
Eventually as time stretched on he gave a final flurry of rapid spells before slumping back into his chair in defeat and rubbed at his temples. “I can’t fix this Hagrid.” As he pointed at the child's head.
“Should we get the matron?”
“No, the boy’s been hit with the killing curse and survived it. Hagrid, it’s unprecedented. Poppy couldn’t fix this.” He sighed, “I don’t think anyone could fix this. Some dark curses leave a mark. There are none darker.”
The silence stretched out between them, Hagrid began to cry as he talked about James and Lily, Dumbledore lay in thought before coming round as Hagrid asked “Who’ll take ter’ lad in?”
A plan formed for every eventuality as he’d waited on Hagrids arrival, he looked across the table, “Hagrid, take the boy to his Aunt and Uncles. Quick, follow, I’ll walk with you to the bike. It’s the best place for him.”
The two talked about what was to happen and where he was to go as they walked the halls and finally approached the motorbike before Dumbledore pulled his wand out of his sleeve and came to the crux of the conversation "Hagrid, for your safety and the childs you can't remember most of what you've seen since leaving Godrics Hollow tonight. They will come for both of you if I don't." Looking down at the wand Hagrid frowned and took on a grim expression before giving a firm nod and immediately he was struck with a sudden red flash, “Stupefy ” his body went rigid and eyes began to roll. In the dark with only the backlight of the motorcycle headlamp he approached as Hagrid lay on his back sprawled on the ground and began his work, " Confundus, Obliviate, Envenrate”.
Dumbledore left for the ministry knowing he had just over half a day to enact his political schemes before Hagrid would finish a trip he would have no knowledge of back to Godric's Hollow and then a further trip on to Privet Drive. Half a day to take advantage of the chaos. Half a day to steer the country away from the rocks.
1st November
Ministry of Magic, Whitehall.
Dumbledore was approached by a person wearing a black cape over there robes, hood raised distorting their face rendering them unrecognisable as he stepped off the lift onto level nine of the ministry to be led into the Department of Mysteries (DOM).
He tried to look through the haze, to lock onto their eyes “I’m here to see Croaker”.
“You’re to follow me. Croaker doesn’t take anything to do with them. Sometimes says we should get rid of the lot of them.”
Dumbledore followed trailing a few paces behind. The guide opened a door gesturing for him to go first. “Room you enter is random unless you're an unspeakable. Have to let you go first or we could end up anywhere.”
The two entered into a hall filled roof to floor as far as the eye could see with shelves packed with thousands of glass orbs each the size of a tennis ball, some emanating a faint white glow others a pale grey tint.
They walked until they found the orb they’d come for still faintly glowing white, etched in the brass plaque attached to the wooden cradle holding the ball was inscribed S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D, Dark Lord and (?) Harry Potter.
“Who added the section about Harry Potter?”
“Me and four other colleagues did, we came in last night after hearing the news and debated it. We can’t see it being about anyone else after what happened.”
"Aren't the prophecies contents in the hall supposed to be a state secret? I'm suprised so many people knew about it to come in."
"Yes, and we work for the arm of the state that deals with them. If the prophecy hadn't been spoken to you then on the Wizengmot or not you wouldn't be allowed to learn it existed. We can’t actually talk about the details of the prophecy with anyone but yourself, Sybil, Mr Potter, the dark lord or that has level P.1.AB or above unspeakable clearance.”
“Ah yes, slipped my mind, apologies. Any particularly interesting points brought up in the discussion?”
“It was very lively. Not very often a prophecy gets that sort of interest around here considering how woolly most in the department think the entire branch of magic is. Even rarer that we come to any consensus on what any of these say. The two things we could agree on is that it is definitely about Mr Potter and that it’s a self fulfilling prophecy.”
“Does the department have any working theories on how the boy survived a killing curse? With what, all things considered, is only a scratch?”
“Only wild guesses, nothing definitive. After Auror Moody hinted at it and you confirmed it last night it’s the most interesting and widely speculated about topic I’ve heard off since I started working here. We've even put it to the ICW and they spread it around the other magical nations, shouldn't be possible. Only known case in history so far as we can tell. Some of the theories are so wild they might get printed in the Quibbler, everything from him being a shape shifting horned serpent animagus who hypnotised Voldemort to divine providence. The most popular theory is Lady Potter doing some sort of runic sacrifice ritual if what the neighbours heard is correct. Some of the reporters have given up even attempting to figure it out and are calling him ‘The-boy-who-lived’, I think it’s going to catch on, already people in here calling him it.”
“Thank you for your time, I’ll have to go try and find the minister, see what the feeling is upstairs.”
He rapped the door to the minister of magic's office and went to open the door just as she was opening it to leave, an elderly brunette lady in smart black robes over a muggle pants suit who looks like shes approaching her retirement, a large opal pendant necklace coming from her neck exited. “Minister Bagnold, I thought I’d catch you early.”
She began walking towards the lift, “Never left Albus, attacks have been happening so often recently that I started keeping a change of clothes in the office. Thank god it’s all over now. A few months from now and we wade through the last of the tidal wave of shit we’ve been under the last few years I can be drinking Ogdens finest on a tropical beach somewhere.''
Dumbeldore waited until a ministerial aide who’d come running with a folder handing it to the minister shouting about an arrested Death Eater claiming he’d been imperiused had finished his rant before speaking. “Are the Lords meeting to discuss it? Your aide seems rather worked up about something that seems quite likely.”
The minister stopped walking for a second and peered over her glasses at Albus before beginning again, “There's an emergency session of the Wizingmot at half seven, most of the lords aren’t happy about being dragged out of their beds so early, most of them were out celebrating a bit too much last night and I think some of them might have been commiserating. Did you not get the notice that was owlled?”
“No, here on other business this morning but assumed it would be the case. Any news on Black?”
“Arcturus is still ill, the healers think it’s degenerative, lost his marbles slightly but it comes and goes. Why?”
“No, I was referring to young Sirius Black.”
“What of him?”
“I have it under good authority that he was the Potter secret keeper, that he was seen at the scene last night before getting into an argument with Hagrid and fleeing. It’s imperative that he’s caught.”
Minister Bagnold turned to the nearest aide rushing through the hallways and snapped “Get me Barty! Immediately! Tell him if he’s not here in two minutes I’ll rearrange his bones in alphabetical order.”
“Millicent I don’t think there's any need for that sort of threat, even in jest.”
“Albus it’s not your place to say who I can threaten under my own Ministry. Sometimes I feel like nothing would ever get done here if I didn’t hold people at wand point occasionally. I’m pretty sure if some of them were left to their own devices they’d be writing legislation for a new European gobstone league or spend a decade discussing the thickness of cauldrons instead of anything worth the public paying their taxes for.
A stern looking man with thinning hair and a large moustache swooped into the hall and approached them, “Minister, Warlock Dumbeldore” nodding respectfully at each in turn.
Minister Bagnold began walking again as soon as he arrived, “No need for the formalities Barty, Albus is going to explain to you what he just discussed with me about Sirius Black.”
Dumbledore repeated what he’d said earlier adding, “He has to be sent to Azkaban for this, it's beyond the pale and the public will demand blood or our heads.”
Bartimus Crouch had a gleam of joy in his eyes, “He has a point minister. Sirius is a trained Auror, one of the best, if he’s turned and went off the rails he’ll be incredibly dangerous.'' Nobody hated a traitor more, a blank cheque to bring him in was like waving a red rag in front of a bull.
“Any means necessary Barty, the longer he’s loose the longer the public think we’re all as woefully incompetent as I know we are. Send a message for Lady Crouch to represent you today. I imagine whatever happens today will be so important that our great-great grandchildren will no doubt read about it in class and discuss how we made such bollocks of it. History is rarely kind, full of folk that think they could of done better only because they have the benefit of hindsight.”
He looked at her and laughed with genuine mirth before spinning on his heels, striding off in the opposite direction, leaving the two to continue down the hall. “Time to put on my mask Albus.” Millicent whispered as they stepped into the chamber; it was a cacophony of noise.