The Mass Breakout and the Memory Charm
Harry couldn’t sleep.
His brain buzzed with thoughts of a trustworthy Snape, co-operative Slytherins, and the truth that Dumbledore finally revealed – the very reason Voldemort had broken into the Department of Mysteries last evening.
Harry had known for two years that Voldemort tried to make Lily stand aside, but he’d never imagined the reason Voldemort had been targeting him the whole time. The answer had been hidden in a crystal ball in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic; a recording of a prophecy from a Seer.
Whether Harry wanted to believe in Divination was irrelevant; Dumbledore was clear that because Voldemort believed the prophecy, he’d essentially activated it. Now the outcome was inevitable:
One of them was destined to kill the other.
Harry rolled over and studied Ron’s bright hair sticking out of the next bed.
Dumbledore gave him permission to tell anyone he trusted about the prophecy, but how could he put such a burden on them?
“Hey guys, so it’s prophesised that Voldemort’ll kill me, or I’ll have to beat him somehow – probably by learning some kind of Dark Magic and becoming a murderer. Just thought you should know. Exploding Snap, anyone?”
Ron would stare at him blankly and then stutter, trying to conjure up some other explanation. Hermione would burst into a slew of information, perhaps about how prophecies were rubbish, or how there were a hundred other ways the prophecy could come to be without Harry’s death or inevitable conversion to the dark side, all the while hiding tears in her eyes.
Harry begged Dumbledore to tell him more – there HAD to be more information – but Dumbledore replied softly that he wasn’t sure of much else yet. He was doing something, apparently; he was looking deep into Voldemort’s history and trying to find a weakness that would give Harry an advantage. But it would take time, and research.
Harry didn’t know how much he wanted to trust him – after all, the older man could still barely look at him while he was speaking – but then Dumbledore carefully met Harry’s eyes across the office.
It was the same as after he saw Arthur being attacked; Harry seemed to lose control of his own mind. He felt the horrible overwhelming desire to strike the man before him, to attack … to KILL–
He shook his head roughly and fisted his hands in the sheets.
At least one question had been answered: Dumbledore didn’t look at him because he’d feared Voldemort may be looking back, through Harry’s own eyes. After all, Harry had seen through Voldemort’s …
All his worries that he’d stifled after Arthur’s attack came flooding back.
Would his failed attempt to lure Harry tonight convince Voldemort to stop sending visions? Or would he keep trying to coerce him?
Harry’s Occlumency was horrid … how long would it be before Voldemort’s influence took over more than just his dreams? Would he start to bleed dark magic into Harry’s veins like poison?
Would Harry eventually be able to kill Voldemort by becoming worse than him?
Harry rolled onto his stomach and bit his pillow hard.
He felt the burden of tonight’s revelations like the weight of a Hippogriff on his chest. He couldn’t even bring himself to care what Dumbledore was planning; nothing could change the fact that Voldemort was going to win. The stupid prophecy’s claims about Harry having some power the Dark Lord knows not was rubbish – even if he managed to do away with Voldemort someday, he’d still lose.
He couldn’t beat Voldemort without murdering him; it wasn’t as though they could just lock him up somewhere. So, the fact was, if Harry DID manage to corner the much more powerful and cunning wizard, he’d have to cast an Unforgiveable Curse. A curse that, if the theory was to be believed, actually damaged one’s soul and guaranteed him a lifetime in Azkaban. Perhaps he’d be pardoned by the Ministry for killing Voldemort, but somewhere deep inside, Harry knew it didn’t matter. He’d probably never have the chance …
Even with all the people fighting on his side, Harry knew the other side used more drastic measures. How could they possibly win when all their hope rested not on the back of a powerful wizard, but just Harry? Even some of the Slytherins had hope in Harry’s side – and he felt a horrible sinking in his chest at the realisation that he was no longer afraid of them betraying him.
He was afraid of letting them down.
There was no way he’d burden Ron and Hermione with horrid knowledge of the inevitable. He’d just have to find a way to time his own death appropriately to protect as many people as possible.
Maybe that’s what Dumbledore wanted all along.
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Blaise, Theo, and Draco managed to get a compartment to themselves on the train, and Theo finally came clean to his other friend about everything that he’d hidden over the course of the year – regarding the war, anyway. He wanted Blaise to be aware of the possibility that Theo’s regular post might stop abruptly if he had to Portkey to safety.
Blaise was a little put out that he’d been excluded from the Grey Wizard plots, but Theo argued that as a neutral party, it was more beneficial for Blaise to stay safely out of it.
“You didn’t need to be part of the Inquisitorial Squad, and you didn’t need to be part of our conspiracy, either.” Theo told his mate firmly. “You would’ve attracted unwanted attention, and there’s no risk to you outside Hogwarts. The Dark Lord knows us because he knows our fathers; if you stay away, he’ll have no reason to try and recruit you. You’re only half-English after all, so he probably won’t bother–”
“But he might just go after ALL Slytherins, you said,” Blaise tried to argue. “Why wouldn’t that include me?”
It was Draco who answered, “Unless the Dark Lord shows up during the middle of the school year – which he won’t as long as Dumbledore’s in charge – he’s not gonna even know you’re a Slytherin since you spend your holidays in Italy. Take it with pride,” he added bitterly. “You get to stay out of trouble and avoid the whole thing.”
Blaise didn’t look thrilled, but his self-preservation instincts were high. He didn’t want to join a war he didn’t have to fight in, yet he didn’t want to abandon Theo to it, either.
“I probably won’t even need my Portkey,” Theo reassured Blaise. “Thoros is locked up, I’ve just got it as a backup plan in case he gets out.”
“Just hope it doesn’t send you to the Weasley hovel,” Draco mumbled under his breath. “Might be worth taking the Mark.”
Theo just rolled his eyes and remained silent. He knew the Weasleys weren’t rich like the Malfoys and Notts – possibly because they had many more mouths to feed – but he secretly hoped the Portkey WOULD send him to the Weasleys’, given that she’d probably be there.
He thought he’d done an alright job convincing her that he wasn’t a junior Death Eater, but the second half of his plan wasn’t yet complete. If anything started to go wrong, he needed to be able to get closer to her.
July, 1996
It had been just three weeks since the end of the year. It wasn’t long enough, but Hermione couldn’t put it off any longer.
She glanced carefully around in the morning sun lighting Diagon Alley. As she walked the familiar cobblestones, she relished that her parents could be at her side. Since it was impossible for Muggles to enter Hogwarts, this was the only part of the magical world they could experience.
“Now, Flourish and Blotts is the bookstore, right?” Helen looked to her daughter for confirmation. “I’m sure you’re most excited to visit there first, Love?”
Hermione forced a smile onto her face.
“Sure Mum, but maybe we could have an early lunch first? I’m feeling a bit peckish.”
“Good plan,” Gerald grinned from Hermione’s other side. “Besides, my Little Bookworm needs her strength before she tries to carry out six or seven shelves’ worth on her own,” he teased, tugging on Hermione’s long curls.
Hermione’s forced smile became rather fixed as she walked her parents to an Italian-style café beside Quality Quidditch Supplies. She let the conversation flow naturally as they sipped espresso and nibbled panini. Hermione carefully drew her parents’ attention away from anything out of the ordinary, including the over-protective behaviours of worried parents with young children, the dark posters and warning signs in nearby windows, and the hurried efforts of most customers to get their shopping done quickly.
Helen and Gerald were unaware of the tension in the magical world and perfectly happy to reminisce about their earlier trips, ask Hermione yet more questions about the unique sights around them, and discuss their upcoming exciting vacation to Australia.
A trip that they never suspected Hermione would miss.
She kept a close eye on her watch and carefully timed their luncheon so they would rise and began walking again at the precise minute. She pretended to head for Flourish and Blotts but unexpectedly led her parents onto a narrow side street between two buildings.
“Prefer to enter the back way?” Gerald asked in confusion when he realised where they’d been guided.
“What is it, Love?” Helen looked down worriedly. Her daughter was shaking horribly, and tears streamed down her cheeks.
“I … I just …”
“You’re not having another fight with Harry and Ron, are you?” Helen asked gently as she reached into her purse for her handkerchief. She wiped Hermione’s tears away while the young witch shook her head.
“Are you nervous about going back? You did say that bad teacher will be gone …”
“Yes, but …” Hermione sniffed. She clutched the brown leather satchel that she’d insisted on bringing, even though Gerald teased that the old thing might fall apart in her hands at any second.
“Mum … Dad–”
Hermione could see the nondescript figure entering the alley, and she knew she had only a moment.
“I … I love you. I love you so much. I’m sorry I’ve been away so much and I’m in this whole new world–”
It was rare that Gerald stopped teasing, but his face turned deadly serious as he bent the few necessary inches to look his daughter in the eye.
“My Little Bookworm,” he said firmly. “Don’t ever feel bad about being who you are. You were born with this amazing gift, and we love you every bit as much as if you’d been born a completely ordinary girl. I know sometimes it’s tricky to talk about these things because you’re a part of a world we can’t completely understand, but every moment we get to spend with you in or out of this world is a treasure.”
Hermione threw herself into her father’s arms and clung to him tightly. Helen was next, she slipped the handkerchief into Hermione’s hand carefully before releasing her from the hug.
“Thank you,” Hermione murmured. “I love you both, and … I’m so sorry.”
There were only a few seconds of confusion on the Granger’s faces before an odd blue light glowed briefly and their faces went utterly blank.
A moment later, Helen reached out to take Gerald’s arm with a smile and suggested they head for the Underground. They had a plane to catch shortly, after all.
Behind them, they were blissfully unaware of their only child falling to her knees and clutching her mother’s handkerchief and her father’s old satchel as she burst into tears.
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Theo didn’t relish the idea of spending his whole summer alone in the stark, picture-perfect Nott Manor. He spent just a day at “home” before settling comfortably into Malfoy Manor for vacation.
While he generally preferred Blaise’s company to Draco’s, his latter friend was much closer. Additionally, Theo enjoyed the company of Narcissa Malfoy, whereas Blaise’s mother – who he’d only met once – was not loquacious or companionable to any wizard too young to make advances toward.
At breakfast, three weeks into summer, the three occupants of the Manor were interrupted by a black owl none of them recognised. It dropped an envelope with an official-looking seal into Narcissa’s lap.
A crease appeared on her forehead as she tore into the letter with none of her usual etiquette. Her face went pale.
“Is it the Ministry?” Draco asked around his bacon, ignoring his manners at the sight of his mother’s face.
Theo stopped eating.
He knew Draco was concerned that Narcissa would be called to the Ministry and charged as an accessory to Lucius’ crimes. Theo was pretty sure if Draco lost both his parents, his friend would go to the Dark Lord himself and beg to be in his service. The Malfoys were notorious for doing anything in their power to protect their families – hence Lucius’ decision to ally with the Dark Lord in the first place.
Theo knew it was largely his own influence that prevented Draco from seeking out the Dark Lord already. It was another reason he’d temporarily moved into Malfoy Manor, to protect his friend. The blond wasn’t ready to be master of his house yet, and he was struggling with Lucius being gone. Theo reminded him daily that the Grey Wizard’s plans were safer than joining the Dark Lord.
Narcissa’s voice trembled, “There was a mass breakout from Azkaban late last night, and the Ministry was honour-bound to inform me that my husband is free.”
Draco’s eyes were round.
“Father’s coming home?” he breathed.
“I– I suppose he will, yes,” Narcissa’s voice was flat, and Theo understood. She should be thrilled to have her husband back, and Draco might finally relax a little … but she and Draco would be placed under tight scrutiny since Lucius was now a fugitive. They would have to hide him, keep him out of public sight–
Theo dropped his fork. Had Narcissa said mass breakout?
Draco looked over in confusion. “What?”
“Did … did they say who else escaped?”
Narcissa’s pale eyes quickly rescanned the parchment. “Oh … your father is free as well, Theo.”
Theo’s hands froze as his mind spun.
Thoros’ actions were predictable, like clockwork. He would arrive home, lock the door, hang his cloak, call for Pippy to prepare a meal, and check his study for missed owls. Then, he’d seek out his son.
When he didn’t find Theo in his quarters, he’d check the library, then the garden … eventually he’d track his son to the Malfoy’s. That was fine, given that he was staying with an approved pure-blooded family.
But if Thoros decided to conduct a search of Theo’s bedroom for a hint to his whereabouts …
“I gotta go!”
Ignoring all etiquette, Theo abandoned his friend, host, and breakfast and raced for the drawing room Floo.
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Hermione was dimly aware of the Memory Charm caster bending carefully to the ground to wrap an arm around her.
“It’ll be alright,” her old professor murmured. “Let’s get you up, now. Did you manage the other charm?”
Hermione couldn’t speak but she managed to nod as she opened the old brown satchel to show him the massive stack of books and other bags she carried within.
Remus whistled. “If it were anyone else, I’d have said no way you could handle that before NEWTs.”
She almost smiled as she closed the bag. It had taken most of the train ride home to complete, helped by his detailed instructions, but it was worth it. The Undetectable Extension Charm was a necessary step in her plan to get her parents to safety before the war began.
They’d never agree to be sent away without her; they needed to remove themselves from harm’s way and forget they had a daughter. Hermione spent days wondering who she could trust to modify their memories.
Choosing Remus hadn’t been too hard; he was one of the best spell-casters she’d met apart from Dumbledore, and she trusted his discretion. The only tricky part had been packing up all the relevant things in her life without magic and without her parents noticing, so Hermione hadn’t slept much in the past few days.
Her secret night-time packing sessions paid off. Every photo of her with her parents, every trinket that could lead back to her, and every other important possession made it safely into her expanded bag by six o’clock that very morning. She’d waved off their questions about why she wanted to carry around the old satchel after they offered to buy her a brand-new one, but of course they had no idea why she wanted to keep the luggage.
On every business trip and vacation, Gerald Granger had this brown leather satchel on his shoulder. It was first used during his time at Oxford, then on the Grangers’ honeymoon, then it was packed with emergency clothes and supplies for the hospital the day their daughter was born.
Over the years the bag stored everything from diapers to books to antiques from their trips to France. When she was two, Hermione even tried to hide in the satchel so she could tag along on her father’s conference trip, and Gerald pretended not to notice the little stowaway before dramatically “discovering” her at the boot of the car.
Despite being old and worn it was the family satchel, and Hermione wouldn’t trade it for anything.
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Theo tore up the main stairs and dashed around two corners, cursing the insane length of the corridors.
Please don’t be back yet … please don’t be in there …
How could he have been so stupid? He never brought home his photos and clippings from school; he only dared to do so this year since his father was locked up. He tucked them away and didn’t bring them to Malfoy Manor because he didn’t want Draco inspecting them. He didn’t expect Thoros to return …
Quite apart from Thoros disliking plebeian photographs and pieces of random newsprint, there was a particular photo that he absolutely could NOT see.
Three more doors … two … one …
He flew through his bedroom door.
There was Thoros, next to Theo’s night table. The contents of the open drawer that once formed Theo’s circus tent had been spread out on the bed.
All but one piece; the one in Thoros’ hand. The picture of Hermione Granger.
Theo thought he felt his heart stop.