Rumpelstiltskin and the Guardian

London

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Harriet screamed as she sat up in bed. Her heart was pounding in her ears and sweat seeped through her clothes. Her hand clutched her forehead and when she pulled it back, she felt something wet and sticky. Flipping on her beside light, she found her hand covered in blood.

In her haste to stand up, she fell out of bed, bleary eyed and confused. She staggered into the bathroom and flipped on the light. In the mirror, she saw her forehead was dripping blood. Wincing, Harriet gently wiped the blood to reveal her scar. It was welted, an angry red, and extremely painful to the touch. Sobbing, Harriet stumbled into the corner of the bathroom and sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around her legs and rocking. It had been twelve years since her scar had hurt, but it had never been like this.

Every night for the past two months she had found herself having horrific nightmares. At first, she didn’t give it much thought. She had always been prone to nightmares and her drinking had only worsened them. However, as each day passed the nightmares became clearer. Instead of disturbing flashes of light and dark, a clear picture formed.

Every night she dreamed about killing herself.

Since that realization, Harriet had done nothing but drink and take sleeping potions. She thought that if she could get her mind to rest, then the nightmares would stop. In the past, it had always worked, but now nothing helped her sleep. As her nightmares worsened, she began to fear that she was suicidal.

“Not that anyone would care if I were gone,” Harriet muttered as she sobbed, huddled in the corner of the bathroom. She knew she was just an unpleasant reminder of a war that most everyone was keen on forgetting. Her popularity had grown stale, even before the Ministry had enforced drastic changes.

Some of the changes were good. The Ministry’s official position was that pureblood ideology was now forbidden in Britain. Being pureblood, half-blood, or muggleborn no longer mattered. The war with Voldemort had highlighted just how dangerous pureblood ideology could be. Now, nobody wanted to be seen indulging in pureblood supremacy.

Wizardkind supremacy, however, was now endorsed.

Harriet cried even harder as she thought about the terrible changes that had infiltrated the Ministry. Now, werewolves were officially banned from attending Hogwarts and could no longer have a wand. They’d all been regulated to the wilds of Scotland with heavy wards in place to keep them from leaving. They couldn’t even leave the country without special permission and the ministry never gave special permission.

Remus Lupin was the only werewolf allowed to live outside the wards. Due to his service for the Order of Phoenix and his association with Harriet, he had been allowed to move into 12 Grimmauld Place. However, the ministry had made it known that Remus and Teddy were technically Harriet’s wards. Should he hurt someone, they would be separated, and Teddy would be raised by his muggle relatives. No contact would ever be allowed between them again.

Once that decision had been made, the floodgates of prejudice against magical beings had been opened and there had been no way to stem the flow. Vampires and hags were restricted to the moors, causing an uproar in the Society for the Tolerance of Vampires. The ministry was keen to point out that werewolves, vampires, and hags were all being punished because they had sided with Lord Voldemort.

The rest of wizardkind didn’t seem to care. Many were keen on the separation between the beings. It wasn’t until the “dark” beings were rounded up and the Ministry began regulating more “acceptable” beings that people began to grow concerned.

House-elves were no longer allowed to stay free. If they were freed by a “master” they had to go to the ministry for reassignment. Boundary lines were put in place to keep the giants and trolls in the mountains, causing them to become even more violent than before. Veela’s were no longer allowed to intermarry with wizards, forcing many families to flee the country.

To everyone’s surprise, the Ministry had left the goblins alone. They didn’t repeal the outdated laws that governed goblinkind, but neither did they take privileges away. Harriet knew it was because the ministry didn’t have the manpower or inclination to deal with another goblin revolt. For that, she had been thankful.

Then they’d turned on the half-humans and forced them to register with the ministry. For those that refused, they were forced to live with their non-human family and banned from ever leaving Britain. If Harriet hadn’t known she was dead, she would have suspected Dolores Umbridge of taking over the Ministry.

Sniffing, Harriet remembered that Albus had tried to stop the half-human persecution. However, it had taken all his considerable influence to keep Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy, and himself out of Azkaban. Even with all his power, Albus had suffered from the fickleness of public opinion. Many people truly believed that Albus had abandoned them. Nobody cared that he had been completely indisposed in a glass coffin; fighting a deadly poison that could have killed him. All they cared about was that he had left them to fight alone. It was only the deeds of his past that allowed him to reestablish himself as the Headmaster of Hogwarts

Harriet had fought the changes every step of the way and the ministry had put up with it because of her popularity. However, when she gave an unsanctioned interview, they fired her for insubordination. The Minister had been so happy, he fired her himself.

Still, Harriet had been stubborn and vowed she wouldn’t stop fighting until someone listened. She began giving more interviews and organizing rallies to try and gather support. It would have worked too, but then the Minister had threatened to take Remus and Teddy from her. She had no choice but to stop.

That’s when the drinking started.

It wasn’t a lot at first. Just drinks when she “needed it”. It took a long time to admit that it was a problem. Such a problem that Remus had asked her to separate 12 Grimmauld Place into two separate apartments, so Teddy didn’t have to see his “aunty” drunk all the time.

That had been a slap in the face. For which, she responded by slapping Remus in his face. Of course, that had been the wrong thing to do. He was an alpha werewolf and became more animalistic when the full moon was near. Yet, even knowing that, she had been surprised when Remus kissed her.

He had never mentioned his attraction to her. Nor had he ever acted in a way that could have been considered romantic. Yet the kiss had been possessive, animal, and bruising. Even now, she could still remember how his lips had felt against hers and the moan of pleasure he had elicited from her. She remembered how he had growled in response and how tightly he had pressed her body against his. For one moment everything had been perfect.

Then he pulled away, looking absolutely horrified.

Harriet cried harder as she remembered how he fled. How he avoided speaking to her unless it had been about Teddy. Harriet had been heart sick. His kiss had awakened something inside her. A part of herself she had been denying for so long. She finally understood what she needed, and she wanted to share that with Remus.

Finally, after a month to the date of their first kiss, Harriet had cornered him. She had gone to pick him up from work and stumbled upon him sweetly kissing another woman. Harriet had been shocked but had waited until the stranger was out of sight before she confronted him.

“What the hell Remus!” Harriet had bellowed.

“H..H…Harriet?” Remus had stuttered, obviously surprised.

“What the fuck is the matter with you!” Harriet had hissed, almost in parseltongue, “First you kiss me, then you avoid me for a fucking month, and now I find out you have a girlfriend?”

She had turned on her heel and, uncaring about muggles or ministry rules, had apparated to their home. She had begun stomping up the stairs when Remus stopped her. Rage and hurt had coursed through her and she had swung at him; only to be pinned against the wall again.

“Stop being violent Harriet!” Remus had snarled, “What if Teddy had seen?”

“He’s with Mrs. Wesley,” Harriet had hissed back, “Do you think I would leave him alone? I know you have a low opinion of me but give me some credit Remus!”

Remus had pushed away from her then and crossed his arms. He had refused to look her in the eye when he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Elizabeth. It just started and I wanted to see if it was serious before I let you know.”

“What happened to kissing me?” Harriet had asked, heartbroken, “Was I really that bad?”

Remus had looked down at his shoes, “I’m sorry about that Harriet. That was my fault as a werewolf.”

“What does that mean?” Harriet had whined. To her chagrin.

“You are an alpha female,” Remus had begun, finally looking at her, “And I’m an alpha male. My wolf wants you to be its mate.”

“I take it you don’t,” Harriet had responded dully, trying to understand what Remus wasn’t saying, “That your instincts are to mate with me but you don’t actually want me.”

Remus had just pressed his lips together and put space between them. Harriet had frowned and snarled, “Fine. Don’t tell me a fucking thing.”

She had turned to leave when Remus had said, “And that’s why I hesitate.”

She looked at him as Remus finally said what everyone had been thinking, “You’re a drunk Harriet. You’re bitter. And you’re changeable.”

Harriet had just stared at him, blinking back tears. Remus had continued with barely contained frustration, “It doesn’t help that you're my best friend’s daughter and twenty years younger than me. But you are so good with Teddy and our arrangement is such that I could overlook that.”

Remus had sighed and reached out, cupping Harriet’s cheek and bringing her close.

“But I can’t overlook the drinking. I can’t overlook how you’re beginning to pull away from Teddy and I. How unstable you’re becoming.” He had put their foreheads together and sighed in regret.

“I do care for you Harriet,” Remus had whispered, kissing her forehead softly, “I would have proudly called you my mate if you had just stopped drinking.”

Harriet hadn’t said anything after that, she couldn’t. Her heart had been slamming into her ribs and her stomach had been twisting in knots. She remembered feeling her heart break as she had watched Remus pull away from her. Even now, her heart was still broken.

Feeling her stomach twist violently, Harriet lunged for the toilet and began dry heaving. She hated thinking about the past. Whenever she thought about her past mistakes, she always felt ill. It had only gotten worse when she finally admitted the truth to herself. That if she had been paying attention, she might have recognized Remus’ feelings earlier. Maybe if she had, she would have recognized her own. Then her life might have been better.

Still, it hadn’t been all her fault. Remus had known how little experience she had with romance. Her flirtation with Neville notwithstanding. She didn’t like to be touched. At Hogwarts, she hadn’t really noticed it. The constant emergencies and battles during her childhood had never given her much time to consider why her skin crawled every time someone touched her.

It wasn’t until she worked at the ministry that her aversion to touch became obvious. Too many people she didn’t know were always slapping her back or shaking her hand. When her discomfort had combined with the daily stress of the job, she had often found herself snapping and growling at people to leave her alone. By the time she realized something was wrong, her reputation as a hot-blooded auror was set.

Closing her eyes, Harriet laid her head on the porcelain seat and fought back tears as she remembered spending all night planning how to convince Remus to give her a chance. She had made herself stay sober, truly believing she didn’t have a drinking problem. She remembered how devastated she had been when her hands began to shake barely twenty-four hours without a drink. She realized then it was hopeless. She was more dependent on alcohol than she had realized.

The next day she waited for Remus to leave, went to find Teddy, and then sent him to Mrs. Wesley. Without stopping to eat breakfast, Harriet had begun to separate the two apartments. Unfortunately, her withdrawal from alcohol had made her magic unpredictable. Kreacher and Winky had been alarmed when they found her passed out in the new foyer. After giving her some water and toast, Harriet had finally felt well enough to explain what was wrong with her. Without needing further explanation, the two elves had quickly taken over. When Remus had come home from work that day, he had been confronted by a foyer and two separate apartments.

“Yours is on the left,” Harriet had said, standing in the middle of the foyer and sipping directly from a wine bottle, “You and Teddy have two bedrooms, a playroom, a library, a bathroom, a kitchen and your own access to the yard. Not to mention a fair amount of storage space and a room for Winky.” She then had taken a huge gulp of wine.

Remus’ face had been impassive as he watched her drink, his eyes sad, “What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Harriet had replied, turning her back on Remus and opening her door, “Teddy’s at the Weasley’s. You might want to speak with them about babysitting since I can’t be trusted with him.” She had then slammed the door, but not before she had seen the stricken look on Remus’ face. She had been absurdly glad that she had hurt him.

Standing shakily, Harriet grabbed some toilet paper and wiped her mouth. She couldn’t help but remember how worse the drinking had gotten after that. With nothing to fill her days, she soon began drinking morning, noon and night. She couldn't keep food down despite Kreacher’s insistence that she eat. Teddy would bang on her door begging her to play with him. Every night between her own sobs, she would hear Kreacher’s own. It had touched her that Kreacher cared so much, but it was never enough to stop her from drinking.

For two months she had hidden in her apartment, never leaving. Her depression had been so complete that she would have Kreacher fetch her nothing but booze and whatever food she could keep down, forcing him to enable her. As a twisted version of self-torment, she would just stare out the window and slowly force herself to drink glass after glass of wine. Finally, Kreacher could take no more and disabled all the wards, allowing Hermione and Ron inside the small apartment.

Standing up, Harriet stumbled into her living room, wrinkling her nose. Looking around she realized she had designed herself a prison. While she had spent time and thought on Remus’ and Teddy’s home, she had only given herself a two-bedroom apartment. It had a small kitchenette, a bedroom, a bathroom, and Kreacher’s living space. She had spent more thought on Kreacher’s own room than she had anything else.

Swallowing, Harriet sat on the couch and held her head in her hands. She remembered that after Kreacher had dispelled the protective wards, he had beaten himself over the head with a book while Winky tried to stop him. Hermione had gasped and stopped in her tracks when she had set eyes on Harriet for the first time in months. Her hair had been a rat’s nest, her skin was waxy, and she smelt of sweat, vomit, and booze. Ron had easily picked her off the floor and Harriet could hear the fear in his voice.

“Where can we take her?” Ron had asked Hermione who was sobbing into her hands.

“Is she even alive?” Hermione had asked, hysterically.

“Barely,” Ron had replied, shifting Harriet’s weight so he could make sure her chest was rising and falling.

“Take her to Madame Pomfrey,” Hermione had finally decided. Harriet had remembered wanting to comfort Hermione but had immediately passed out when Ron had apparated.

When she had woken up, she had been in a private room in Hogwarts’s Hospital Wing. Dumbledore had been sitting by her bedside, reading the Daily Prophet. Looking at her over his half-moon spectacles, he folded his paper and said sadly, “It is good to see you awake Harriet.”

“How long was I out?” Harriet had asked. She had struggled to speak, and her body had felt leaden.

“A week,” Dumbledore had said, watching her struggle, “Madame Pomfrey felt it best to keep you unconscious while the potions worked to reverse the damage to your body.”

“Damage?” Harriet had whispered, and Dumbledore had nodded, “Drinking and not eating almost killed you. The potions that were prescribed to repair the damage were painful.”

Both were quiet for some time and then finally Albus had finally asked, “Why Harriet?”

Harriet remembered a deep rage taking hold of her then. She had looked at the Headmaster and sneered, “Why not? I was raised to die, wasn’t I?”

Albus had looked devastated by her words but said nothing in his own defense. He had just looked away. Harriet’s rage quickly dissipated, leaving only numbness in its wake.

Ron and Herimone had made her go to rehab. They had said her depression and drinking would kill her and that she should go to heal. They enrolled her into a muggle rehab and left her there for six months. Harriet hadn’t protested. She knew her friends were only trying to help and so she had gone hoping it would work.

It hadn’t.

Slowly, over time, all her friends distanced themselves from her, tired of the violence and self-flagellation. It was lucky that she had magic and money, or she would have long since been homeless. As it were, her last stint in rehab had severed her friendship with the Weasleys. They had told her that they could no longer watch her kill herself. That if she drank again, they would have to cut ties with her. It had caused something in Harriet to break. Her magic had whipped out and broken every window in The Burrow.

“Then fucking leave me alone then!” Harriet had shouted, “If you can’t bare it, then fuck off! It was easy for you to watch the Dursleys abuse me. But God forbid if I abuse myself!”

Molly had sobbed and looked away from Harriet while Mr. Weasley had yelled at her to get out and never come back. Harriet had flipped him off and made sure to blow the door off its hinges as she left; just to be petty.

She had gone directly to Hogwarts after that and signed over guardianship of Remus and Teddy to Dumbledore. She had known that if the Ministry had found out they both would have been separated. She hadn’t cared then. She had been done.

She had called Ron and Hermione to tell them to leave her alone. That they didn’t want her around their children. Hermione had taken that harder than Ron since he was incensed at her for destroying the Burrow.

She asked Kreacher if he wanted to stay with her or have the Ministry reassign him. He had begged her to let him stay, so she had. However, she had then ordered him not to ask anyone for help.

“I’m going to kill myself Kreacher,” Harriet had announced, “Please let me go.”

She had then taken the booze into the bathroom and shut him out. He had cried and begged her to come out. Harriet had drunk bottle after bottle. Desperately trying to become numb. She was over this fucking world. She just wanted to go somewhere she was loved. When she was drunk enough, she took a knife and slit her wrists. She layed in the dry tub watching as the blood poured from her veins

It hadn’t worked. Her magical core was too used to keeping her alive to let her bleed out. It burnt off the alcohol just enough for the pain to hit. Not wanting to die in pain, she had stumbled out of the bathroom, smearing blood across her apartment as she hunted for her blood replenishing potions. Kreacher rushed to her side and helped heal her wounds.

She had cried herself to sleep when she realized that there would be no easy way out. If she wanted to kill herself, she was going to have to try something else. Which, as it turned out, she hadn’t wanted to do. She was tired of hurting herself and her drinking binge had made her sick at the thought of alcohol.

For three months she was sober. It was the longest she had ever stayed away from alcohol by herself. She had just begun contemplating sending owls to everyone and asking for forgiveness when the nightmares had started. Then she stopped being able to sleep. Soon after that, the drinking started again. When she still couldn’t sleep, she began to abuse sleeping potions. Finally, it had gotten to the point where Snape had stopped selling them to her and made sure nobody else would either.

So, she made them herself.

Harriet smiled faintly thinking about Severus’ reaction.

“Leave it to you Potter to finally learn potions when you are denied something; like the brat you are.” Snape had sneered when he came to check on her. Being able to live his life on his own terms had calmed the dour potions master considerably. So much in fact, that he finally allowed himself to see who Harriet actually was and not who he wanted her to be. Slowly, with time and patience, they struck up a friendship. Something Harriet was always surprised existed but happy to know was possible.

“Well, if you had been a better teacher then maybe I would have learned sooner,” Harriet had snapped, aggressively.

“Touché Potter,” Snape had conceded, giving her an evaluating look, “If you would stop drinking, then the potions might work. You look exhausted.”

“Do you think so?” Harriet had whispered desperately, “I mean, I tried but it didn’t seem to work.”

“Do it for a month,” Severus had said, frowning as he evaluated her appearance.

She remembered looking awful. There had been bags under her eyes. Her scar had been red and itchy. There were splotches on her face. She had even smelled.

“Okay,” Harriet had whispered, “I’ll do it.”

She had been true to her word. She had done everything exactly as Severus had told her, but nothing helped. Nothing kept the dreams away. In fact, with each passing day the dreams had become more and more vivid and soon it was as if she were watching television with surround sound.

Wiping her face, Harriet stood and went back to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror she flinched at her reflection. The splotches on her face had worsened, her scar was still inflamed, and the bags under her eyes were so black it looked like someone had punched her. She looked far worse than she ever had when the Dursleys were starving her.

Flinching as she swapped hair from her face, she fought her growing hysteria. This nightmare had been the worst one yet. As always, Harriet felt everything that happened in the dream, as if she were the one doing it. She had gotten into a tub with her clothes on. She had picked up a toaster and turned it on. Then she looked at herself in the mirror.

But it hadn’t been her.

It had been a man not much taller than herself. He wore a raggedy suit so dirty she couldn’t tell what color it was. He'd been standing in a tub, and she could feel the water in his shoes. He looked like he was underweight, with deep circles under his eyes. Those eyes had captivated her for a moment. They had been the loveliest shade of brown but desperate and sorrowful. It had been quite the shock when they had dilated into a reptilian amber just before he dropped the toaster.

The lights had flickered wildly in the rundown bathroom while she felt like she was being ripped apart and flung in all different directions. She felt her stomach roll again as she remembered the smell of burning flesh and how painful his screams had been.

Sniffing, Harriet looked at her scar and realized what she had been denying for weeks. Lord Voldemort was back. It was the only explanation for what was happening to her. He was the only person that could cause her scar to hurt or bleed.

But how could that be? He was dead and the man in her dreams looked nothing like the monster he had been. Was Voldemort possessing people? Having them kill themselves and then moving on to the next host? And if so, why was she just now having dreams about it? Was it some way of gaining power?

Quickly Harriet left the bathroom and desperately searched through her bookshelf for her photo album. Flipping to the back page, she took out an envelope and scattered the few pictures she found across her bed and gasped in surprise. All of them showed a younger version of the man in her nightmares.

Harriet picked up the photo of Tom Riddle during his Hogwarts graduation and shivered. There wasn’t much difference between the two men, except Tom Riddle’s eyes were dead. There was no emotion in them, only cold satisfaction. The man from her nightmare had the most expressive eyes she had ever seen. They had been so sad and desperate.

Harriet shivered again and let the photo drop.

“Does Mistress need Kreacher?” Kreacher asked as he watched his mistress stare into space. Jumping slightly, Harriet glanced at him and nodded.

“Please make me some tea,” Harriet said, rubbing her eyes and sighing. She was so tired that she felt like crawling out of her own skin, “I can’t sleep again Kreacher.”

“Yes Mistress,” Kreacher replied, beginning to reach out to her, but thinking better of it. Lately, Kreacher had been trying to comfort her, but he could never actually make himself touch her. Instead, he fussed around the house, trying to make her as comfortable as possible.

Harriet smiled at Kreacher but was immediately dropped once he left the room. Instead, she frowned at the various photos of Lord Voldemort. She knew she should tell someone. It was obvious that Lord Voldemort was alive. If she shared her suspicions now, they could intervene before he gained power. But one question stopped her.

If Lord Voldemort was back, why was he trying to kill himself?